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MARIUS 


(LES  MISERABLES) 


A  NOVEL 


BY  VICTORi  HUGO 


TRA.NSLATED  FROM  THE  ORIGINAL  FRENCH  BY  LASCELLES  Wiv«X- 
ALL  AND  ADDITIONS  BY  CHARLES   E.  WILBOUR 


WM.  L.  ALLISON  CO., 

PUBLISHERS 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

BOOK  1 — PARIS  ATOMIZED 1 

«      2— THE  GRAND  BOURGEOIS  .....      20 
"      3 — THE  GRANDFATHER  AND  THE  GRAND- 
SON      30 

"      4 — THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE  A.  B.  C.    .     .      65 

5 — THE  EXCELLENCE  OF, MISFORTUNE     .     96 

*'      6 — THE  CONJUNCTION  OF  Two  STARS    .    115 

"      7 — PATRON  MINETTE 133 

«     8 — THE  Noxious  POOR     .    .  142 


M  ARIUS. 

BOOK  FIRST. 


PARIS  ATOMIZED. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PARVULUS. 

PARIS  has  a  child  and  the  forest  has  a  bird ;  the  bird  is 
called  a  sparrow,  the  child  is  called  a  gamin. 

Couple  these  two  ideas,  the  one  which  is  all  furnace,  the 
other  all  dawn ;  bring  the  two  sparks,  Paris  and  childhood, 
into  collision,  and  a  little  being  is  produced,  a  homuncio,  as 
Plautus  would  say. 

This  little  being  is  joyous  ;  he  does  not  eat  every  day,  and 
he  goes  to  the  theatre  every  night  if  he  thinks  proper.  He  has 
no  shirt  on  his  body,  no  shoes  on  his  feet,  and  no  covering  on 
his  head ;  he  is  like  the  flies,  which  have  none  of  those  things. 
He  is  from  seven  to  thirteen  years  of  age,  lives  gregariously, 
lodges  in  the  open  air,  wears  an  old  pair  of  his  father's  trous- 
ers, which  descend  lower  than  his  heels,  an  old  hat  belonging 
to  some  other  father,  which  comes  below  his  ears,  and  one  yel- 
low list  brace.  He  runs,  watches,  begs,  kills  time,  colors  pipes, 
swears  like  a  fiend,  haunts  the  wine-shop,  knows  thieves,  is  in- 
timate with  prostitutes,  talks  slang,  sings  filthy  songs,  and  has 
nothing  bad  in  his  heart ;  for  he  has  in  his  soul  a  pearl,  Inno- 
cence ;  and  pearls  are  not  dissolved  by  mud.  So  long  as  the 
man  is  a  child,  God  desires  that  he  should  be  innocent. 

If  we  were  to  ask  the  enormous  city,  "  What  is  this  creat- 
ure? "  it  would  reply,  "it  is  my  little  one." 

CO 


LES  MISERABLE?. 


CHAPTER  IL 

SOME   OF   HIS   PRIVATE   MARKS. 

THE  gamin  of  Paris  is  the  dwarf  of  the  giantess. 

Let  us  not  exaggerate  :  this  cherub  of  the  gutter  has  some- 
times a  shirt,  but  in  that  case  has  only  one  ;  he  has  shoes  at 
times,  but  then  they  have  no  soles ;  he  has  at  times  a  home, 
and  likes  it,  for  he  finds  his  mother  there ;  but  he  prefers  the 
street,  because  he  finds  liberty  there.  He  has  games  of  his 
own,  and  his  own  tricks,  of  which  hatred  of  the  respectable 
class  constitutes  the  basis,  and  he  has  metaphors  of  his  own, — 
thus,  to  be  dead,  he  calls  eating  dandelions  by  the  root.  He 
has  trades  of  his  own,  fetching  hackney  coaches,  letting  down 
steps,  pulling  a  board  across  the  gutters  in  heavy  showers,  and 
shouting  out  speeches  made  by  the  authorities  in  favor  of  the 
French  people.  He  has  also  a  currency  of  his  own,  composed 
of  all  the  little  pieces  of  copper  that  can  be  picked  up  in  the 
streets.  This  curious  money,  which  takes  the  name  of  loques, 
has  an  unvarying  and  well-established  value  in  this  childish 
Bohemia. 

Lastly,  he  has  a  fauna  of  his  own,  which  he  studiously  ob- 
serves in  every  hole  and  corner, — the  lady-bird,  the  death's 
head  moth,  the  daddy  long-legs,  and  the  "  devil,"  a  black  insect 
which  threatens  by  writhing  its  tail,  and  which  is  armed  with 
two  horns.  He  has  his  fabuluous  monster,  which  has  scales  on 
its  belly,  and  is  not  a  lizard,  and  spots  on  its  back,  but  is  not  a 
frog ;  it  lives  in  holes  in  old  lime-kilns  and  dried-up  wells  ;  it 
is  black,  hairy,  slimy,  and  crawls  about,  at  one  moment  slowly, 
at  another  quickly  ;  it  utters  no  sound,  but  looks  so  terrible 
that  no  one  has  ever  seen  it.  This  monster  he  calls  the 
"  dragon,"  and  looking  for  it  under  stones  is  a  pleasure  of  a 
formidable  nature.  Another  pleasure  is  suddenly  to  raise  a 
paving-stone  and  look  at  the  wood-lice.  Every  region  of  Paris 
is  interesting  for  the  celebrated  "  finds  "  which  may  be  made 
in  them ;  thus,  there  are  ear-wigs  in  the  timber-yards  of  the 
Ursulines,  centipedes  at  the  Pantheon,  and  tadpoles  in  the 
ditches  of  the  Champs  de  Mars. 


MARIUS.  3 

As  for  witticisms,  this  child  is  as  full  of  them  as  Talleyrand; 
but  though  no  less  cyncical,  he  is  more  honest.  He  is  gifted 
with  an  unforeseen  joviality,  and  startles  the  shop-keeper  by 
his  mad  laugh.  His  range  extends  from  genteel  comedy  to 
farce.  A  funeral  passes,  and  among  the  persons  following  is  a 
physician.  "  Hilloh  !  "  shouts  a  gamin,  "  when  did  the  doctors 
begin  to  carry  home  their  own  work  ?  " 

Another  is  in  a  crowd.  A  serious  man,  adorned  with  spec- 
tacles and  watch  seals,  turns  indignantly :  "  You  scoundrel, 
what  do  you  mean  by  taking  my  wife's  waist  ?  " 

" I|  sir?  search  me ! " 


CHAPTER  III. 

HE   IS   AGREEABLE. 

AT  night,  thanks  to  a  few  half-pence  which  he  always  con- 
trives to  procure,  the  homuncio  enters  a  theatre.  On  crossing 
this  magical  threshold  he  becomes  transfigured  ;  he  was  a  gamin, 
and  he  becomes  the  titi.  Theatres  are  like  overturned  vessels, 
which  have  their  keel  in  the  air,  and  the  titis  congregate  in  the 
hold.  The  titi  is  to  the  gamin  as  the  butterfly  to  the  chrysalis, 
the  same  being,  but  now  flying  and  hovering.  It  is  sufficient 
for  him  to  be  present,  with  his  radiant  happiness,  his  power  of 
enthusiasm  and  delight,  and  the  clapping  of  his  hands,  which 
resembles  the  flapping  of  wings — and  the  narrow,  fetid,  ob- 
scure, dirty,  unhealthy,  hideous,  abominable  hold  is  at  once 
called  Paradise. 

Give  a  being  what  is  useless,  and  deprive  him  of  what  is 
necessary,  and  you  will  have  the  gamin.  He  possesses  some 
literary  intuition,  and  his  tastes,  we  confess  it  with  all  proper 
regret,  are  not  classical.  He  is  by  nature  but  little  of  an  aca- 
demician. 

This  being  bawls,  shouts,  ridicules,  and  fights ;  wears  patches 
like  a  babe,  and  rags  like  a  philosopher :  fishes  in  the  gutter, 
sports  in  the  sewers,  extracts  gayety  from  filth,  grins  and  bites, 
whistles  and  sings,  applauds  and  hisses,  tempers  the  Hallelu- 
jah chorus  with  Matanturlurette,  hums  every  known  tune,  finds 
without  looking,  knows  what  he  is  ignorant  of,  is  a  Spartan  in 
filching,  wallows  on  the  dungheap,  and  emerges  covered  with 
etars.  The  gamin  of  Paris  is  the  boy  Rabelais. 


4  LES   MISERABLES. 

He  is  not  satisfied  with  his  trousers  if  they  have  no  watch- 
pockets. 

He  is  surprised  at  little,  and  frightened  by  less  ;  he  sings 
down  superstitions,  reduces  exaggerations,  puts  out  his  tongue 
at  ghosts,  depoetizes  stilts,  and  introduces  caricature  into  the  most 
serious  affairs.  It  is  not  that  he  is  prosaic,  far  from  it,  but  he 
substitutes  a  farcical  phantasmagoria  for  solemn  vision.  If 
Adamastor  were  to  appear  to  him,  the  gamin  would  say, 
"  Hilloh,  old  Boguey  ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HE    MAY    BE    USEFUL. 

PAKIS  begins  with  the  badaud  and  ends  with  the  gamin,  tfft 
beings  of  which  no  other  city  is  capable ;  the  passive  accept- 
tance  which  is  satisfied  with  looking,  and  the  inexhaustible  ini- 
tiative, Prudhomme  and  Fouillon.  Paris  alone  has  that  in  its 
natural  history  :  all  the  monarchy  is  in  the  badaud,  all  the 
anarchy  is  in  the  gamin. 

This  pale  child  of  the  faubourgs  of  Paris  lives,  and  is  de- 
veloped, and  grows  up  in  suffering,  a  thoughtful  witness  in  the 
presence  of  social  realities  and  human  things.  He  believes  him- 
•elf  reckless,  but  is  not  so  ;  he  looks  on,  ready  to  laugh  but  also 
ready  for  something  else.  Whoever  you  may  be  who  call 
yourself  prejudice,  abuses,  ignominy,  oppression,  iniquity,  des- 
potism, injustice,  fanaticism,  or  tyranny,  take  care  of  the 
yawning  gamin. 

This  little  fellow  will  grow. 

Of  what  clay  is  he  made  ?  of  anything ;  take  a  handful  of 
mud,  a  breath,  and  you  have  Adam  ;  it  is  sufficient  for  a  God 
to  pass,  and  God  has  ever  passed  over  the  gamin.  Fortune 
toils  for  this  little  being,  though  by  the  word  fortune  we  mean 
to  some  extent  adventure.  Will  this  pigmy,  moulded  in  the 
coarse  common  clay,  ignorant,  uneducated,  brutal,  violent,  and 
of  the  populace,  be  an  Ionian  or  a  Boeotian  ?  Wait  a  while, 
dum  curritrota,  and  the  genius  of  Paris,  that  demon  which 
creates  children  of  accident  and  men  of  destiny,  will  behave 
exactly  contrary  to  the  Latin  potter,  and  make  an  amphora 
put  of  the  earthenware  jar. 


MARIUS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HIS    FRONTIERS. 

THE  gamin  loves  the  town,  but  he  loves  solitude  as  well,  for 
there  is  something  of  the  sage  in  him :  he  is  urlis  amator  like 
Fuscus,  and  ruris  amator  like  Flaccus. 

To  wander  about  dreamily,  that  is,  to  lounge,  is  an  excellent 
employment  of  time  for  the  philosopher,  particularly  in  that 
slightly  bastard  and  somewhat  ugly  sort  of  country,  which  is, 
however,  strange  and  composed  of  two  natures,  that  surrounds 
certain  large  cities,  and  notably  Paris.  Observing  the  suburbs 
is  looking  at  an  amphibious  scene  ;  it  is  the  end  of  the  trees 
and  the  beginning  of  the  roofs,  the  end  of  the  grass  and  the  be- 
ginning of  the  pavement,  the  end  of  the  furrows  and  the  begin- 
ning of  the  shops,  the  end  of  rule  and  the  beginning  of  passions, 
the  end  of  the  divine  murmur  and  the  beginning  of  human 
reason,  and  all  this  '  produces  an  extraordinary  interest ;  and 
such  is  the  motive  of  the  apparently  objectless  walks  of  the 
dreamer  in  those  unattractive  parts,  which  the  passer-by  at 
once  brands  with  the  title  of  "  sad." 

The  author  of  these  lines  was  for  a  long  time  a  prowler  about 
the  suburbs  of  Paris,  and  it  is  a  source  of  profound  recollection 
for  him.  The  worn  grass,  the  stony  path,  the  chalk,  the  marl, 
the  plaster,  the  rough  monotony  of  ploughed  and  fallow  land, 
the  young  plants  in  the  kitchen-garden  suddenly  noticed  in  a  hol- 
low, the  mixture  of  the  wild  and  the  tame,  the  vast  deserted  nooks 
in  which  the  garrison  drummers  hold  their  noisy  school,  these 
Thebaids  by  day  and  cut-throat  dens  by  night,  the  tottering 
mill  turning  in  the  wind,  the  wheels  of  the  quarries,  the  wine- 
shops at  the  corners  of  the  cemetries,  the  mysterious  charm  of 
the  tall  dark  walls  cutting  at  right  angles  immense  open  fields 
bathed  in  sunshine  and  full  of  butterflies — all  this  attracted  him. 

Hardly  any  one  knows  those  singular  spots,  la  Glaciere,  la 
Cimette,  the  hideous  wall  of  Grenelle  pock-marked  with  bul- 
lets, the  Mont  Parnasse,  the  Fosse  aux  Loups,  the  Tombe 
Issoire,  or  the  Pierre  Plate  de  Chatillon,  wh£re  there  is  an  old 
exhausted  quarry,  which  is  now  only  employed  to  grow  mush- 
rooms, and  is  closed  by  a  heap  of  rotten  boards  flush  with  the 
ground.  The  Campagna  of  Rome  is  an  idea,  and  the  banlieue 


6  .  LES   MISERABLES, 

of  Paris  is  another :  to  see  in  what  an  horizon  offers  us  nought 
but  fields,  houses,  or  trees,  is  to-  remain  on  the  surface ;  for  all 
the  aspects  of  things  are  the  thoughts  of  God.  The  spot  where 
a  plain  forms  its  junction  with  a  town  is  always  imprinted  with 
a  species  of  penetrating  melancholy ;  for  nature  and  humanity 
address  you  simultaneously,  and  local  peculiarities  make  their 
appearance  there. 

Any  one  who  has  wandered  like  we  have  in  those  solitudes 
contiguous  to  our  suburbs,  which  might  be  called  the  Limbos  of 
Paris,  has  seen  here  and  there,  at  the  most  deserted  spot,  and 
at  the  most  unexpected  moment,  behind  a  scrubby  hedge,  or  in 
the  corner  of  some  melancholy  wall,  children  grouped  tumul- 
tuously,  fetid,  muddy,  dusty,  unkempt,  and  ragged,  playing  to- 
gether. They  are  the  little  runagates  of  poor  families :  this 
external  boulevard  is  their  breathing  medium,  and  the  banlieue 
belongs  to  them,  and  they  eternally  play  truant  in  it.  They 
ingenuously  sing  there  their  repertory  of  unclean  songs.  They 
are  there,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  they  dwell  there,  far 
from  any  eye,  in  the  gentle  warmth  of  May  or  June.  Cii  cling 
round  a  hole  in  the  ground  and  playing  at  pitch  and  toss,  like 
irresponsible,  freed,  and  happy  beings,  so  soon  as  they  perceive 
you,  they  remember  that  they  have  a  trade  and  must  gain  their 
livelihood,  and  they  offer  to  sell  you  an  old  wool  stocking  full 
of  may-bugs  or  a  spray  of  lilac.  Such  a  meeting  with  chance 
children  is  one  of  the  charming,  and  yet  poignant,  graces  of 
the  environs  of  Paris. 

Sometimes  there  are  girls  among  the  heap  of  boys, — are 
they  their  sisters? — almost  grown  up,  thin,  feverish,  sunburnt, 
and  freckled,  crowned  with  wheat-ears  and  poppies ;  gay,  hag- 
gard, and  bare-footed.  You  may  see  them  eating  cherries 
among  the  wheat,  and  at  night  hear  them  laugh.  These 
groups,  warmly  illumined  by  the  bright  light  of  mid-day,  or 
seen  in  the  twilight,  for  a  long  time  occupy  the  dreamer,  and 
these  visions  are  mingled  with  his  dreams. 

Paris  is  the  centre,  the  banlieue  is  the  circumference — that 
is,  the  whole  earth  for  these  children.  They  never  venture 
beyond  it,  and  can  no  more  leave  the  Parisian  atmosphere 
than  fish  can  live  out  of  water.  With  them  there  is  nothing 
beyond  two  leagues  from  the  barriere ;  Ivry,  Gentilly,  Arcueil, 
Belleville,  Aubervilliers,  Menilmontant,  Choisy  le  Roi,  Bellan- 
court,  Meudon,  Issy,  Vauvres,  Sevres,  Puteaux,  Neuilly, 
Gennevilliers,  Colombes,  Romainville,  Clialon,  Asnieres, 
Bougival,  Nanterre,  Enghien,  Noisy-le-sec,  Nogent,  Gournay, 
Drancy,  and  Gonesse — at  these  plac<>?  (heir  universe  ends; 


MARIUS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A    SMALL    BIT    OF    HISTORY. 

AT  the  almost  contemporary  period  when  this  story  hap- 
pened there  was  not,  as  at  the  present  day,  a  policeman  at 
every  street  corner  (a  blessing  which  we  have  no  time  to  dis- 
cuss), and  wandering  children  abounded  in  Paris.  Statistics 
give  us  an  average  of  two  hundred  and  sixty  shelterless  chil- 
dren, picked  up  annually  by  the  police  of  that  day,  in  unen- 
closed fields,  in  houses  building,  and  under  the  arches  of 
bridges.  One  of  these  nests,  which  became  famous,  produced 
"  the  swallows  of  the  Rue  d'Arcole."  This,  by  the  way,  is  the 
most  disastrous  of  social  symptoms,  for  all  the  crimes  of  the 
man  begin  with  the  vagabondage  of  the  lad. 

We  must  except  Paris,  however,  and  in  a  relative  degree, 
and  in  spite  of  the  statistics  we  have  just  quoted,  the  excep- 
ti  in  is  fair.  While  in  any  other  great  city  a  vagabond  child 
is  a  ruined  man,  while  nearly  everywhere  the  boy  left  to  him- 
self is,  to  some  extent,  devoted  and  left  to  a  species  of  fatal 
immersion  in  public  vice,  which  destroys  honor  and  conscience 
within  him,  the  gamin  of  Paris,  though  externally  so  injured, 
is  internally  almost  intact.  It  is  a  magnificent  thing  to  be  able 
to  say,  and  one  revealed  in  the  splendid  probity  of  our  popular 
revolutions,  that  a  certain  incorruptibility  emanates  from  the 
idea  which  is  in  the  atmosphere  of  Paris,  as  from  the  salt 
which  is  in  the  ocean  water.  Breathing  Paris  preserves  the 
soul. 

But  what  we  have  just  stated  does  not  in  any  way  decrease 
the  heart-contraction  which  we  feel  every  time  we  meet  one  of 
these  lads,  around  whom  we  fancy  that  we  can  see  the  threads 
of  the  broken  family  fluttering.  In  our  present  civilization, 
which  is  still  so  incomplete,  it  is  not  a  very  abnormal  fact,  that 
families  thus  broken  up  should  not  know  what  becomes  of  their 
children,  and  allow  their  entrails  to  fall  upon  the  public  way. 
Hence  come  these  obscure  destinies,  and  this  sad  thing  has 
become  proverbial,  and  is  known  as  "  being  cast  on  the  pave- 
ment of  Paris." 

Let  us  remark  parenthetically  that  such  desertion  of  children 
was  not  discouraged  by  the  old  monarchy.  A  little  of  the 


8  LES   MISERABLES. 

Bohemian  and  Egyptian  element  in  the  lower  classes  suited 
the  higher  spheres,  and  the  powerful  ones  profited  by  it. 
Hatred  of  national  education  was  a  dogma ;  of  what  good  were 
half-lights?  Such  was  the  sentence,  and  the  vagabond  boy  is 
the  corollary  of  the  ignorant  boy.  Besides,  the  monarchy 
sometimes  wanted  lads,  and  then  it  skimmed  the  streets. 

In  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  to  go  no  further  back,  the  king 
wished,  rightly  enough,  to  create  a  fleet.  The  idea  was  good, 
but  let  us  look  at  the  means.  No  fleet  is  possible,  unless  you 
have  by  the  side  of  the  sailing  vessels,  which  are  the  plaything 
of  the  winds,  vessels  which  can  be  sent  wherever  may  be  neces- 
sary, or  be  used  as  tugs,  impelled  by  oars  or  steam ;  and  in 
those  days  galleys  were  to  the  navy  what  steam-vessels  now 
are.  Hence  galleys  were  needed,  but  galleys  are  only  moved 
through  the  galley-slave,  and  hence  the  latter  must  be  pro- 
cured. Colbert  ordered  the  provincial  intendants  and  parlia- 
ments to  produce  as  many  convicts  as  they  could,  and  the  mag- 
istrates displayed  great  complaisance  in  the  matter.  A  man 
kept  on  his  hat  when  a  procession  passed ;  that  was  a  Hugue- 
not attitude,  and  he  was  sent  to  the  galleys.  A  boy  was  met 
in  the  street;  provided  that  he  was  fifteen  years  of  age,  and 
had  no  place  to  sleep  in,  he  was  sent  to  the  galleys.  It  was  a 
great  reign — a  great  age. 

In  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.  children  disappeared  in  Paris ; 
the  police  carried  them  off  and  no  one  knew  for  what  mysteri- 
ous employment.  Monstrous  conjectures  were  whispered  as  to 
the  king's  purple  baths.  It  sometimes  happened  that  when 
boys  ran  short,  the  exempts  seized  such  as  had  parents  ;  and 
the  parents,  in  their  despair,  attacked  the  exempts.  In  such  a 
case  parliament  interfered  and  hanged — whom  ?  the  exempts  ? 
no, — the  fathers. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    GAMIN    WILL     HAVE    HIS    PLACE    AMONG-   THE    CLASSIFI- 
CATIONS   OP    INDIA. 

THE  Parisian  gamin  almost  forms  a  caste,  and  we  might  say 
that  a  boy  does  not  become  so  by  wishing. 

The  word  gamin  was  printed  for  the  first  time,  and  passed 
from  the  populace  into  literature,  in  1834.  It  made  its  first 
appearance  in  a  work  called  Claude  Gueux :  the  scandal  was 
great,  but  the  word  has  remained. 


MARIUS.  9 

The  elements  that  constitute  the  consideration  of  gamins 
among  one  another  are  very  varied.  "We  knew  and  petted 
one,  who  was  greatly  respected  and  admired  because  he  had 
seen  a  man  fall  off  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame ;  another,  be- 
cause he  had  managed  to  .enter  the  back-yard  in  which  the 
statues  of  the  dome  of  the  Invalides  were  temporarily  deposited, 
and  steal  lead  off  tliem ;  another,  because  lie  had  seen  a  dili- 
gence upset ;  another,  because  he  knew  a  soldier  who  had  all 
but  put  out  the  eye  of  a  civilian. 

Tliis  explains  the  exclamation  of  the  Parisian  gamin,  at 
•which  the  vulgar  laughed  without  understanding  its  depth. 
"  Dieu  de  Dieu  !  how  unlucky  I  am  !  just  think  that  I  never 
saw  anybody  fall  from  a  fifth  floor !  "  Assuredly  it  was  a  neat 
remark  of  the  peasant's  : 

"  Father  So  and  So,  your  wife  has  died  of  her  illness  :  why 
did  you  not  send  for  a  doctor  ?  " — "  What  would  you  have, 
sir?  we  poor  people  die  of  ourselves."  But  if  all  the  passive- 
ness  of  the  peasant  is  contained  in  this  remark,  all  the  free- 
thinking  anarchy  of  the  faubourien  will  be  found  in  the  follow- 
ing: a  man  condemned  to  death  is  listening  to  the  confessor  in 
the  cart,  and  the  child  of  Paris  protests, — "He  is  talking  to 
the  skull-cap.  Oh,  the  capon  !  " 

A  certain  boldness  in  religious  matters  elevates  the  gamin, 
and  it  is  important  for  him  to  be  strong-minded. 

Being  present  at  executions  is  a  duty  with  him.  He  points  at 
the  guillotine  and  laughs  at  it,  and  calls  it  by  all  sorts  of  pet 
names, — end  of  the  soup  ;  the  grumbler  ;  the  sky-blue  mother ; 
the  last  mouthful,  etc.  In  order  to  lose  none  of  the  sight,  be 
climbs  up  walls,  escalades  balconies,  mounts  trees,  hangs  to 
gratings,  and  clings  to  chimney-pots.  A  gamin  is  born  to  be 
a  slater,  as  another  is  to  be  a  sailor,  and  he  is  no  more  fright- 
ened at  a  roof  than  at  a  mast.  No  holiday  is  equal  to  the 
Greve,  and  Samson  and  the  Abbe  Montes  are  the  real  popular 
fetes.  The  sufferer  is  hooted  to  encourage  him,  and  is  some- 
times admired.  Lacenaire,  when  a  gamin,  seeing  the  frightful 
Dautrem  die  bravely,  uttered  a  remark  which  contained  his 
future  fate, — "  I  was  jealous  of  him."  In  gamindon,  Voltaire 
is  unknown,  but  Papavoine  is  famous.  Politicians  and  mur- 
derers are  mingled  in  the  same  legend,  and  traditions  exist  as 
to  the  last  garments  of  all.  They  know  that  Tolleron  had  a 
night-cap  on  ;  Avril  a  fur  cap  ;  Louvel  a  round  hat ;  that  old 
Delaporte  was  bald  and  bare-headed  ;  Castaing  rosy-cheeked 
and  good-looking,  and  that  Bories  had  a  romantic  beard  ;  Jean 
Martin  kept  his  braces  on,  and  Lecouffe  and  his  mother  abused 


IO  LES   MISERABLES. 

each  other :  "  Don't  quarrel  about  your  basket,"  a  gamin 
shouted  to  them.  Another  little  fellow  climbed  up  a  lamp  post 
on  the  quay,  in.  order  to  watch  Debacker  pass  ;  and  a  gendarme 
posted  there  frowned  at  him.  "  Let  me  climb  up,  M'sieu  le 
Gendarme,"  and  to  soften  the  man  in  authority,  he  added, — 
"  I  shall  not  fall."  "  What  do  I  care  whether  you  fall  or 
not  ?  "  the  gendarme  replied. 

Among  the  gamins  a  memorable  accident  is  highly  esteemed, 
and  a  lad  attains  the  summit  of  consideration  if  he  give  him- 
self a  deep  cut  "  to  the  bone." 

The  fist  is  no  small  element  of  success,  and  one  of  the  things 
which  a  gamin  is  very  fond  of  saying  is,  "  I  am  precious 
strong."  To  be  left-handed  renders  you  enviable,  while  squint- 
ing is  held  in  great  esteem. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN   ANECDOTE   OP    THE   LAST   KING. 

IN  summer  the  gamin  is  metamorphosed  into  a  frog,  and 
leaps  off  the  washing  barges  in  front  of  the  Jena  and  Auster- 
litz  bridges  into  the  Seine  and  all  possible  infractions  of  the 
laws  of  decency.  Still  the  police  are  on  the  watch,  and  hence 
results  a  highly  dramatic  situation,  which  once  gave  rise  to  a 
paternal  and  memorable  cry.  This  cry,  which  became  cele- 
brated about  1830,  is  a  strategic  warning  from  gamin  to  gamin  ; 
it  can  be  scanned  like  a  verse  of  Homer,  with  a  notation  al- 
most as  indescribable  as  the  Eleusiac  song  of  the  Panathenaca, 
in  which  the  ancient  Evohe"  may  be  traced, — "  Ohe,  Titi, 
oheee,  here's  the  sergeant,  pack  up  your  traps,  and  be  off 
through  the  sewer  !  " 

Sometimes  this  gad-fly — that  is  the  name  he  gives  himself — 
can  read,  sometimes  he  can  write,  and  draw  after  a  fashion. 
He  does  not  hesitate  to  acquire,  by  some  mysterious  mutual  in- 
struction, all  the  talents  which  may  be  useful  to  the  public 
cause.  From  1815  to  1830  he  imitated  the  cry  of  a  turkey  ; 
from  1830  to  1848  he  drew  a  pear  upon  the  walls.  One  sum- 
mer evening,  Louis  Philippe,  returning  home  on  foot,  saw  a 
very  little  scamp  struggling  to  raise  himself  high  enough  to 
draw  with  charcoal  a  gigantic  pear  on  the  pillar  of  the  Neuilly 
gates,  and  the  king,  with  that  kindness  which  he  inherited  from 
Henry  IV.,  helped  the  gamin  to  finish  the  pear  and  gave  him  a 


MARIUS.  1 1 

louis,  saying,  "  The  pear  is  on  that  too."  The  gamin  likes  a 
commotion,  and  any  violent  condition  pleases  him.  He  exe- 
crates the  cures.  One  day  a  young  scamp  was  seen  taking  a 
sight  at  the  gateway  of  No.  69,  Rue  de  1'Universite,  "  Why 
are  you  doing  that  to  that  gate?  "  a  passer-by  asked  him  ;  the 
lad  answered,  "  A  cure  lives  there."  The  Papal  Nuncio  in  fact 
resided  there.  Still,  however  great  the  gamin's  Voltairianism 
may  be,  if  the  opportunity  is  offered  him  of  being  a  chorister, 
he  may  possibly  accept,  and  in  that  case  serves  in  all  politely. 
There  are  two  things  of  which  he  is  the  Tantalus,  and  which 
he  constantly  desires  without  ever  being  able  to  attain  them, — 
to  overthrow  the  government  and  have  his  trousers  reseated. 

The  gamin,  in  a  perfect  state,  is  acquainted  with  all  the  police 
of  Paris,  and  when  he  meets  one,  can  always  give  a  name  to 
his  face.  He  numbers  them  on  his  fingers,  studies  their  names, 
and  has  his  special  notes  about  each.  He  reads  the  minds  of 
the  police  like  an  open  book,  and  will  say  curiously  and  with- 
out hesitating, — "  So  and  so  is  a  traitor,  so  and  so  is  very 
wicked,  so  and  so  is  great,  and  so  and  so  is  ridiculous  "  (the 
italicized  words  have  all  a  peculiar  meaning  in  his  mouth). 
This  one  believes  that  the  Point  Neuf  belongs  to  him,  and  pre- 
vents the  world  from  walking  on  the  cornice  outside  the  para- 
pet ;  another  has  a  mania  for  pulling  the  ears  of  persons,  etc., 
etc. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   OLD    SOUL    OP    GAUL. 

THIS  lad  may  be  traced  in  Poquelin,  a  son  of  the  Halles, 
and  again  in  Beaumarchais,  for  gaminerie  is  a  tinge  of  the  Gal- 
lic temper.  When  blended  with  common  sense,  it  at  times 
adds  strength  in  the  same  way  as  alcohol  when  mixed  with 
wine  ;  at  other  times  it  is  a  fault.  Homer,  it  is  true,  repeats 
himself,  and  we  might  say  that  Voltaire  plays  the  gamin. 
Camille  Desmoulins  was  a  faubourien.  Championnet,  who 
abused  miracles,  issued  from  the  pavement  of  Paris  ;  when 
quite  a  lad,  he  "  inundated  the  porticoes  "  of  Saint  Jean  de 
Beauvais  and  Saint  Etienne  du  Mont,  and  was  on  such  famil- 
iar terms  with  the  shrine  of  Saint  Genevieve  as  eventually  to 
give  his  orders  to  the  vial  of  St.  Januarius. 

The  Parisian  gamin  is  respectful,  ironical,  insolent.     He  ha* 


12  LES  MISERABLES. 

bad  teeth  because  he  is  badly  fed  and  his  stomach  suffers,  and 
fine  eyes  because  he  has  talent.  He  would  hop  up  ti 
of  Paradise  in  the  very  presence  of  Jehovah.  He  is  clever  at 
the  savate,  and  all  creeds  are  possible  to  him.  He  plays  in  the 
gutter,  and  draws  himself  up  at  the  sound  of  an  emeute ;  his 
effrontery  cannot  be  subdued  by  grape-shot ;  he  was  a  vaga- 
bond and  becomes  a  hero,  and  like  the  little  Theban,  he 
shakes  the  Bon's  skin.  Barra  the  drummer  was  a  Parisian 
gamin ;  he  snouted,  •*  Forward ! "  and  in  an  instant  became  a 


This  child  of  the  mud  is  also  the  child  of  the  ideal ;  to 
see  this  we  need  only  measure  the  distance  between  Moliere 
and  Barra. 

In  a  word,  the  gamin  is  a  being  who  amuses  himself,  because 
he  is  unhappy. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ECCE    PAEIS ECCE    HOMO. 

THE  gamin  of  Paris  at  the  present  day.  like  the  Graeculus  of 
Rome  in  the  former  time,  is  the  youthful  people  with  the 
wrinkle  of  the  old  world  on  its  forehead. 

The  gamin  is  a  grace  for  a  nation,  and  at  the  same  time  a 
malady,  a  malady  which  must  be  cured.     In  what  way  : 
fight,— for  light  is  sanitary  and  illumining. 

All  the  geneious  social  irradiations  issue  from  scienc- 
ten,  Jhe  arts,  and  instruction.     Hake  Ben  and  enlighten  them 
in  order  that  they  may  warm  you.     Sooner  or  later  the  splen- 
did question  of  universal  instruction  will  be  asked  with  the 
irresistible  authority  of  absolute  truth  ;  and  then  those  who 
govern  trader   the  surveillance  of  French  ideas  will  have  to 
make  a  choice  between  children  of  France  and  gamins  of  P 
between  fhayq  in  light  or  wfll-o'-the  wisps  in  the  darkness. 

The  gamin  expresses  Paris,  and  Paris  expresses  the  world. 

For  Paris  is  a  total ;  it  is  the  ceiling  of  the  human  race,  and 
the  whole  of  this  prodigions  city  is  an  epitome  of  dead  manners 
and  living  ••••«••-  The  man  who  sees  Paris  imagines  that 
he  sees  universal  history,  with  sky  and  constellations  in  the 
intervals.  Paris  has  a  capital  in  the  Town  Hall.  a.  Parthenon 
in  Xotre  Dame,  a  Mons  Arentinus  in  the  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine,  an  Asinarium  in  the  Sorbonne,  a  Pantheon  in  the 


MARIUS.  13 

Pantheon,  a  Via  Sacra  in  the  Boulevard  des  Italians,  a  Tower 
of  the  Winds  in  public  opinion,  and  ridicule  has  been  sub- 
stituted for  the  Gemoniae.  Its  majo  is  called  the  "  faraud,"  its 
Transteverine  is  called  the  faubourien,  its  hammal  the  "  fort  de 
la  Halle,"  its  lazzarone  the  "pegre,"  and  its  cockney  the 
'•  Gandin."  All  that  is  elsewhere  is  in  Paris.  Dumarsais' 
fish-fag  can  give  a  reply  to  the  herb-seller  of  Euripides ; 
Vejanus  the  discobolus  lives  again  in  the  rope-dancer  Forioso; 
Therapontiginus  Miles  could  walk  arm-in-arm  with  Grenadier 
Vadeboncoeur  ;  Damasippus  the  broker  would  be  happy  among 
the  dealers  in  bric-a-brac ;  Yincennes  would  hold  Socrates 
under  lock,  just  as  the  Agora  would  pounce  on  Diderot ; 
Grimod  de  la  Regniere  discovered  roast-beef  with  tallow,  in  the 
in  the  same  way  as  Curtillus  invented  roast  hedge-hog.  We 
have  seen  the  trapeze  of  which  we  read  in  Plautus  reappear 
under  the  balloon  of  the  Arc  de  1'Etoile  ;  the  sword  shallower 
of  Poecile  met  by  Apuleius,  is  a  swallower  of  sabres  on  the 
Pont  Noeuf ;  Rameau's  nephew  and  Curculion  the  parasite  form  a 
pair  ;  Ergasites  would  have  himself  introduced  to  Cambaceres  by 
d'Aigre  feuille  ;  the  four  fops  of  Rome,  Alcesimarchus,  Phoe- 
dromus,  Dicabolus,  and  Argiryppus  descend  the  Courtille  in 
Labatut's  postchaise  ;  Aulus  Gellius  stopped  before  Congrio  no 
longer  than  Charles  Xodier  did  before  Punchinello ;  Marton  is 
not  a  tigress,  but  Pardalisca  was  not  a  dragon.  Pantolabus 
humbugs  Nomentamus,  the  gourmet,  at  the  cafe  Anglais ; 
Hermogenes  is  the  Tenor  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  Thrasius 
the  beggar,  dressed  as  Bobeche,  carries  round  the  hat  for  him  ; 
the  troublesome  fellow  who  catches  hold  of  your  coat-button  in 
the  Tuileries  makes  you  repeat  after  two  thousand  years  the 
apostrophe  of  Thesperon, —  QUTS  propfrantem  me  prehendtt 
pallio  ?  The  wine  of  Suresne  is  a  parody  of  the  wine  of  Alba  ; 
Pere  Lachaise  exhales  in  the  night  showers  the  same  gleams  as 
the  Esquilise  ;  and  the  poor  man's  grave  bought  for  five  years 
is  quite  equal  to  the  hired  coffin  of  the  slave. 

^  k  for  any  thing  which  Paris  has  not.  The  tub  of 
Trophonius  contains  nothing  which  is  not  in  Mesmer's  trough ; 
Ergaphilas  is  resuscitated  in  Cagliostro ;  the  Brahmin  Tasa- 
phanta  is  incarcerated  in  the  Count  de  St.  Germain  ;  and  the 
cemetery  of  Sant  Medard  performs  quite  as  good  miracles  as 
the  Oumoumie  Mosque  at  Damascus. 

Paris  has  an  Esop  in  Mayeux,  and  a  Canidia  in  Mademois- 
elle Lenormaud  ;  it  i>  startled  as  Delphi  was  by  the  flaming 
realities  of  the  vision ;  it  makes  tables  turn  as  Dodona  did 
tripods ;  it  places  a  grisette  upon  a  throne  as  Rome  placed  a 


14  LES   MISERABLES. 

courtesan :  and,  after  all,  if  Louis  Quinze  is  worse  than 
Claudius,  Madame  Dubarry  is  better  than  Messalina.  Paris 
combines  in  an  extraordinary  type  what  is  dead  and  what  we 
have  elbowed, — Greek  nudity,  the  Hebrew  ulcer,  and  Gascon 
puns.  It  mixes  up  Diogenes,  Job,  and  Paillasse,  dresses  a 
ghost  in  old  numbers  of  the  Constitutionnel,  and  makes  Chodru- 
cnito  a  Duclos. 

Although  Plutarch  says  "  the  tyrant  never  goes  to  sleep," 
Rome,  under  Sylla  as  under  Domitian,  was  resigned,  and  liked 
to  mix  water  with  its  wine.  The  Tiber  was  a  Lethe,  if  we 
may  believe  the  somewhat  doctrinaire  eulogium,  which  Varus 
Vibiscus  made  of  it :  Contra  Gracchos  Tiberim  habemus 
Hibere  Tiberim,  idest  seditionem  oblivisci.  Paris  drinks  a 
million  quarts  of  water  a  day,  but  that  does  not  prevent  it  from 
beating  the  tattoo  and  ringing  the  alarm  bell  when  the  oppor- 
tunity offers. 

"With  this  exception,  Paris  is  good-natured  ;  it  accepts  every 
thing  royally  ;  it  is  not  difficult  in  the  matter  of  its  Venus ;  its 
Callipyge  is  a  Hottentot ;  provided  that  it  laughs,  it  forgives; 
ugliness  amuses  it,  deformity  does  it  good,  and  vice  distracts  it ; 
if  you  are  droll  you  may  be  a  scoundrel ;  even  hypocrisy,  that 
supreme  cynicism,  does  not  revolt  it ;  it  is  so  literary  that  it 
does  not  hold  its  nose  on  passing  Basile,  and  is  no  more 
scandalized  by  Tartufe's  prayer  than  Horace  was  terrified  by 
"  hiccough  "  of  Priapus.  No  feature  of  the  human  face  is 
wanting  in  the  profile  of  Paris ;  the  Balle  Mabille  is  not  the 
Polyhymnian  dance  of  the  Janiculum,  but  the  brothel-keeper 
lias  her  eye  fixed  on  the  Lorette  there,  exactly  as  the  procuress 
Staphyla  watched  the  Virgin  Planesium.  The  Barriere  des 
Combats  is  not  a  Coliseum,  but  people  are  as  ferocious  there 
as  if  Caesar  were  looking  on.  The  Syrian  hostess  has  more 
grace  than  Mother  Saguet,  but  if  Virgil  frequented  the  Roman 
wine-shop,  David  of  Angers,  Balzac,  and  Chailet  have  seated 
themselves  in  Parisian  pot-houses.  Paris  reigns,  geniuses  flash 
in  it,  and  red-tails  prosper.  Adonais  passes  through  it  in  his 
twelve-wheeled  car  of  thunder  and  lightning ;  and  Silenus  makes 
his  entrance  on  his  barrel.  For  Silenus  read  Ramponneau. 

Paris  is  the  synonym  of  Cosmos ;  Paris  is  Athens,  Rome, 
Sybaris,  Jerusalem,  and  Pantin.  All  civilizations  are  found 
there  abridged,  but  so  are  all  barbarisms.  Paris  would  be  very 
sorry  not  to  have  a  guillotine,  a  little  of  the  Place  de  Gr£ve  is 
useful,  for  what  would  this  eternal  festival  be  without  that  sea- 
soning? The  laws  have  wisely  provided  for  that,  and  thanks 
to  them,  the  knife  drains  drops  of  blood  upon  this  Mardi  Gras. 


MARWS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   REIGN    OF    RIDICULE. 

THERE  are  no  limits  to  Paris,  and  no  other  city  has  held  this 
sway  which  at  times  derides  those  whom  it  holds  in  subjection. 
"  To  please  you,  O  Athenians  !  "  Alexander  exclaimed,  Paris 
makes  more  than  the  law,  for  it  sets  the  fashion ;  and  it  makes 
more  than  fashion,  for  it  produces  routine.  Paris  may  be 
stupid,  if  it  think  proper,  at  times  it  indulges  in  that  luxury, 
and  then  the  universe  is  stupid  with  it ;  but  Paris  soon  wakes 
up,  rubs  its  eyes,  says,  How  stupid  I  am,  and  laughs  in  the  face 
of  the  human  race.  What  a  marvel  such  a  city  is  !  how  strange 
it  is  to  find  this  grandeur  and  this  buffoonery  side  by  side,  to 
see  how  all  this  majesty  is  not  deranged  by  this  parody,  and 
the  same  mouth  to-day  blowing  the  trumpet  of  the  last  judg- 
ment, and  to-morrow  a  penny  whistle  \  Paris  has  a  sovereign 
gayety,  but  the  gayety  is  lightning,  and  its  farce  holds  a  sceptre. 
Its  hurricane  at  times  issues  from  a  furnace  ;  its  explosions,  its 
days,  its  masterpieces,  its  prodigies,  its  epics,  go  to  the  end  of 
the  world,  and  so  do  its  cock  and  bull  tales.  Its  laugh  is  the 
crater  of  a  volcano  which  bespatters  the  world ;  and  its  jokes 
ai'e  sparkles  of  fire.  It  imposes  upon  nations  its  caricatures  as 
well  as  its  ideal,  and  the  loftiest  monuments  of  human  civiliza- 
tion accept  its  ironies  and  lend  their  eternity  to  its  jokes.  It  is 
superb ;  it  has  a  prodigious  July  14,  which  delivers  the  globe  ; 
its  night  of  August  4  dissolves  in  three  hours  a  thousand  years 
of  feudalism  ;  it  multiplies  itself  in  every  form  of  sublimity  ; 
it  fills  with  its  lustre  Washington,  Kosciusco,  Bolivar,  Botzaris, 
Riego,  Bern,  Manin,  Lopez,  John  Brown,  and  Garibaldi.  It  is 
found  wherever  the  future  bursts  into  a  flash, — at  Boston  in 
1771),  at  the  Isle  of  Leon  in  1820,  at  Pesth  in  1848,  at  Paler- 
mo in  18GO  ;  it  whispers  the  powerful  watch-word  "  Liberty  " 
in  the  ear  of  the  American  abolitionists  assembled  at  Harper's 
Ferry,  and  in  that  of  the  patriots  of  Ancona  assembled  in  the 
darkness  before  the  Gozzi  inn,  on  the  sea-shore ;  it  creates 
Canaris,  it  creates  Puiroga;  it  creates  Pisacane,  it  radiates 
grandeur  upon  the  earth  ;  it  was  by  going  whither  its  blasts 
impelled  him  that  Byron  died  at  Missolonghi,  and  Mazat  at 
Barcelona;  it  is  a  tribune  under  the  feet  of  Mirabeau,  and  a 
crater  under  those  of  Robespierre ;  its  books,  plays,  art, 


|6  LES   MISERABLES. 

science,  literature,  and  philosophy,  are  the  manuals  of  the 
human  race ;  it  has  Pascal,  Regnier,  Corneille,  Descartes,,  and 
Jean  Jacques  ;  Voltaire,  for  any  moment,  Moliere  for  all  ages  ; 
it  makes  the  universal  mouth  speak  its  language ;  it  constructs 
in  every  mind  the  idea  of  progress ;  the  liberating  dogmas 
which  its  fuses  are  well-tried  friends  for  generations,  and  it  is 
with  the  minds  of  its  thinkers  and  its  poets  that  all  the  heroes 
of  all  nations  have  been  formed  since  1789.  Still  this  does 
not  prevent  it  from  playing  the  gamin,  and  the  enormous  gen- 
ius which  is  called  Paris,  while  transfiguring  the  world  with 
its  light,  draws  Bouginier's  nose  with  charcoal  on  the  wall  of 
the  Temple  of  Theseus,  and  writes  Credeville  Voleur  upon  the 
Pyramids. 

Paris  constantly  shows  its  teeth,  and  when  it  is  not  scolding 
it  is  laughing, — such  is  Paris.  The  smoke  from  its  chimneys 
constitutes  the  ideas  of  the  universe, — it  is  a  pale  of  mud  and 
stones  if  you  like,  but  it  is,  before  all,  a  moral  being.  It  is 
more  than  grand,  it  is  immense;  and  why,  because  it  dares. 

Daring  is  the  price  paid  for  progress. 

All  sublime  contests  are  more  or  less  the  rewards  of  bold- 
ness. For  the  Revolution  to  take  place,  it  was  not  enough 
that  Montesquieu  should  foresee  it,  Diderot  preach  it,  Beau- 
marchais  announce  it,  Condorcet  calculate  it,  Arouet  prepare 
it,  and  Rosseau  premeditate  it, — it  was  necessary  that  Danton 
should  dare  it. 

The  cry  of  boldness  is  the  fiat  lux.  In  order  that  the  human 
race  may  progress,  it  must  have  proved  lessons  of  courage 
permanently  before  it.  Rashness  dazzles  history,  and  is  one  of 
the  brightnesses  of  man.  The  dawn  dares  when  it  breaks.  To 
attempt,  to  brave,  persist,  and  persevere,  to  be  faithful  to  one's 
self,  to  wrestle  with  destiny,  to  astound  the  catastrophe  by  the 
slight  fear  which  it  causes  us,  at  one  moment  to  confront  unjust 
power,  at  another  to  insult  intoxicated  victory,  to  hold  firm  and 
withstand — such  is  the  example  which  people  need  and  which 
electrifies  them.  The  same  formidable  flash  goes  from  the 
torch  of  Prometheus  to  the  short  clay  pipe  of  Cambronne. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  FUTURE  LATENT  IN  THE  PEOPLE.  . 

As  for  the  Parisian  people,  even  when  full  grown,  it  is  al- 
ways  the   gamin.     Depicting   the   lad  is  depicting  the  city, 


MARIUS.  I/ 

and  that  is  the  reason  why  we  have  studied  the  eagle  in  the 
sparrow. 

The  Parisian  race,  we  say  again,  is  found  most  truly  in  the 
faubourg;  there  it  is  pure-blooded,  there  we  find  the  real 
physiognomy,  there  the  people  work  and  suffer,  and  toil  and 
suffering  are  the  two  faces  of  the  man.  There  are  there  immense 
numbers  of  strange  beings,  among  whom  may  be  found  the 
wildest  types,  from  the  porter  of  la  Rapie  to  the  guarryman  of 
Montfau9on.  Fcex  urbis,  Cicero  exclaims ;  mob,  Burke  adds, 
indignantly ;  a  crowd,  a  multitude,  a  population,  these  words 
are  quickly  uttered ;  but  no  matter !  what  do  I  care  that  they 
go  about  barefoot?  They  cannot  read;  all  the  worse.  AViil 
you  abandon  them  on  that  account?  Will  you  convert  their 
distress  into  a  curse?  Cannot  light  penetrate  these  masses? 
Let  us  revert  to  that  cry  of  light,  and  insist  upon  it.  Light, 
light !  who  knows  whether  this  opaqueness  may  not  become 
transparent?  for  are  not  revolutions  themselves  transfigura- 
tions? Come,  philosophers,  teach,  enlighten,  illumine,  think 
aloud,  speak  loudly,  run  joyfully  into  the  sunshine,  fraternize 
with  the  public  places,  announce  the  glad  tidings,  spread  al- 
phabets around,  proclaim  the  right,  sing  the  Marseillaise,  sow 
enthusiasm,  and  pluck  green  branches  from  the  oak?.  Make  a 
whirlwind  of  the  idea.  This  crowd  may  be  sublimated,  so  let 
us  learn  how  to  make  use  of  that  vast  conflagration  of  principles 
and  virtues,  which  crackles  and  bursts  into  a  flame  at  certain 
hours.  These  bare  feet,  these  naked  arms,  these  rags,  this 
ignorance,  this  abjectness,  this  darkness,  may  be  employed  for 
the  conquest  of  the  ideal.  Look  through  the  people,  and  you 
will  perceive  the  truth  ;  the  vile  sand  which  you  trample  under 
foot,  when  cast  into  the  furnace  and  melted,  will  become 
splendid  crystal,  and  by  its  aid,  Galileo  aud  Newton  discover 
planets. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LITTLE    GAVROCHE. 

EIGHT  or  nine  years  after  the  events  recorded  in  the  second 
portion  of  this  story,  there  might  be  noticed  on  the  Boulevard 
du  Temple  and  in  the  regions  of  the  Chateau  d'Eau,  a  boy  of 
about  eleven  or  twelve  years  of  age,  who  would  have  tolerably 
well  realized  the  ideal  of  a  gamin  as  sketched  above,  had  he 

2 


1 8  LES   MISERABLES. 

not  had,  with  the  smile  of  his  age  on  his  lips,  a  heart  abso- 
lutely gloomy  and  void.  This  child  was  dressed  in  a  man's 
trousers,  but  he  had  not  got  them  from  his  father,  and  a 
woman's  jacket,  which  did  not  come  from  his  mother.  Some 
persons  had  clothed  him  in  rags  out  of  charity.  Yet  he  had  a 
father  and  a  mother,  but  his  father  did  not  think  of  him,  -and 
his  mother  did  not  love  him.  He  was  one  of  those  children 
worthy  of  pity  before  all,  who  have  father  and  mother  and  are 
orphans. 

This  child  was  never  so  comfortable  anywhere  as  in  the 
street,  for  the  paving-stones  were  less  hard  to  him  than  his 
mother's  heart. 

His  parents  had  kicked  him  out  into  life,  and  he  had  simply 
tried  his  wings. 

He  was  a  noisy,  pale,  active,  sharp,  impudent  lad,  with  a 
cunning  and  sickly  look.  He  came  and  went,  sang,  played  at 
hopscotch,  searched  the  gutters,  pilfered  a  little,  but  gayly,  like 
cats  and  sparrows,  laughed  when  he  was  called  a  scamp,  and 
felt  angry  when  called  a  thief.  He  had  no  bed,  no  bread,  no 
fire,  no  love  :  but  he  was  happy  because  he  was  free. 

When  these  poor  beings  are  men,  the  mill  of  social  order 
nearly  always  crushes  them,  but  so  long  as  they  are  children 
they  escape  because  they  are  small.  The  slightest  hole  saves 
them. 

Still,  so  abandoned  as  this  child  was,  it  happened  every  two 
or  three  months  that  he  said, — "  Well,  I'll  go  and  see  mamma." 
Then  he  quitted  the  Boulevard,  the  Circus,  the  Porte  St.  Mar- 
tin, went  along  the  quay,  crossed  the  bridge,  reached  the  Sal- 
petriere,  and  arrived — where  ?  Exactly  at  that  double  No.  50- 
52,  which  the  reader  knows,  the  Maison  Gorbeau. 

At  this  period  No.  50-52,  which  was  habitually  deserted  and 
eternally  decorated  with  a  bill  of  "  Lodgings  to  Let,"  was, 
strange  to  say,  inhabited  by  several  persons,  who  had  no  ac- 
quaintance with  each  other,  as  is  always  the  case  in  Paris.  All 
belonged  to  that  indigent  class,  which  begins  with  thelastsmall 
tradesman  in  difficulties,  and  is  prolonged  from  wretchedness  to 
wretchedness  to  those  two  beings  to  whom  all  the  material 
tilings  of  civilization  descend,  the  scavenger  and  the  rag- 
picker. 

The  chief  lodger  of  Jean  Valjean's  day  was  dead,  and  her 
place  had  been  taken  by  another  exactly  like  her.  I  forget 
now  what  philosopher  said,  "  There  is  never  any  want  of  old 
women." 

This  new  old  woman  was  called  Madame  Burgon,  and  had 


MARIUS.  19 

nothing  remarkable  in  her  life  save  a  dynasty  of  three  parrots, 
which  had  successively  reigned  over  her  soul. 

The  most  wretched  of  all  the  persons  inhabiting  the  house 
were  a  family  of  four  persons,  father,  mother,  and  two  nearly 
grown-up  daughters,  all  four  living  in  the  same  attic,  one  of  the 
cells  to  which  we  have  alluded. 

This  family  offered  at  the  first  glance  nothing  very  peculiar 
beyond  its  denudation ;  and  the  father,  on  hiring  the  room, 
stated  that  his  name  was  Jondrette.  A  short  time  after  he 
moved  in,  which  had  borne  a  striking  resemblance — to  employ 
the  memorable  remark  of  the  chief  lodger — to  the  coming  in 
of  nothing  at  all,  this  Jondrette  had  said  to  the  woman,  who, 
like  her  predecessor,  was  also  porteress  and  swept  the  stairs, 
"  Mother  So  and  So,  if  any  one  were  to  ask  by  chance  for  a 
Pole,  or  an  Italian,  or  perhaps  a  Spaniard,  I  am  the  party." 

This  was  the  family  of  the  merry  little  vagabond.  He  joined 
it,  and  found  distress,  and,  what  is  sadder  still,  not  a  smile  ;  a 
cold  hearth  and  cold  heart.  When  he  entered,  they  ask  him, 
"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "  and  he  answered,  "  From  the 
street : "  when  he  went  away,  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  and 
he  answered,  "  To  the  street."  His  mother  would  say  to  him, 
"  What  do  you  want  here  ?  " 

The  boy  lived  in  this  absence  of  affection  like  the  pale  grass 
which  grows  in  cellars.  He  was  not  hurt  by  it  being  so,  and 
was  not  angry  with  any  one  :  he  did  not  know  exactly  how  a 
father  and  mother  ought  to  be. 

Moreover,  his  mother  loved  his  sisters. 

We  have  forgotten  to  mention  that  on  the  boulevard  the  lad 
was  called  Little  Gavroche.  Why  was  he  called  Gavroche  ? 
probably,  because  his  father's  name  was  Jondrette. 

Breaking  the  thread  seems  the  instinct  of  some  wretched 
families. 

The  room  which  the  Jondrettes  occupied  at  the  Maison  Gor- 
beau  was  the  last  in  the  passage,  and  the  cell  next  to  it  was 
occupied  by  a  very  poor  young  man  of  the  name  of  Monsieur 
Marius. 

Let  us  state  who  this  Monsieur  Marius  was. 


20  LES  MISERABLES. 


BOOK  SECOND. 


THE  GRAND  BOURGEOIS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NINETY   YEARS    AND    TWO-AND-THIRTY    TEETH. 

THERE  are  still  a  few  persons  residing  in  the  Rue  Boucherat, 
Rue  de  Normandie,  and  Rue  de  Saintonge,  who  can  remember 
a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  M.  Gillenormand,  and  speak 
kindly  about  him.  This  man  was  old  when  they  were  young, 
and  this  profile  has  not  entirely  disappeared,  with  those  who 
look  sadly  at  the  vague  congregation  of  shadows  called  the 
past,  from  the  labyrinth  of  streets  near  the  Temple,  which  in 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  received  the  names  of  all  the  provinces 
of  France,  exactly  in  the  same  way  as  in  our  time  the  names 
of  all  the  capitals  of  Europe  have  been  given  to  the  streets  in 
the  new  Tivoli  quarter  ;  a  progression,  by  the  bye,  in  which 
progress  is  visible. 

M.  Gillenormand,  who  was  most  lively  in  1831,  was  one  of 
those  men  who  have  become  curious  to  look  on,  solely  because 
they  have  lived  a  long  time,  and  are  strange,  because  they 
once  resembled  everybody  and  now  no  longer  resemble  anyone. 
He  was  a  peculiar  old  man,  and  most  certainly  the  man  of  an- 
other age,  the  complete  and  rather  haughty  bourgeois  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  who  carried  his  honest  old  boui-geoisie  with 
the  same  air  as  marquises  did  their  marquisate.  He  had  passed 
his  ninetieth  year,  walked  upright,  talked  loudly,  saw  clearly, 
drank  heartily,  and  ate,  slept  and  snored.  He  still  had  his 
two-and-thirty  teeth,  and  only  wore  spectacles  to  read  with. 
He  was  of  an  amorous  temper,  but  said  that  for  the  last  ten 
years  he  had  decidedly  and  entirely  given  up  the  sex.  "  He 
could  not  please,"  he  said  ;  and  he  did  not  add  "  I  am  too  old," 
but  "  I  am  too  poor.  If  I  were  not  ruined — he,  he,  he  !  "  In 
fact,  all  that  was  left  him  was  an  income  of  about  fifteen  thou- 
sand francs.  His  dream  was  to  make  a  large  inheritance,  and 


MARIUS.  21 

have  one  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year,  in  order  to  keep  mis- 
tresses. As  we  see,  he  did  not  belong  to  that  weak  variety  of 
octogenarians,  who,  like  M.  de  Voltaire,  were  dying  all  their 
life;  his  longevity  was  not  that  of  the  cracked  jug,  and  this 
jolly  old  gentleman  had  constantly  enjoyed  good  health.  He 
was  superficial,  rapidly  ami  easily  angered,  and  he  would  storm 
at  the  slightest  thing,  most  usually  an  absurd  trifle.  When  he 
was  contradicted,  he  raised  his  cane,  aud  thrashed  his  people, 
as  folks  used  to  do  in  the  great  age.  lie  had  a  daughter  up- 
ward of  fifty  years  of  age  and  unmarried,  whom  he  gave  a 
hearty  thrashing  to  when  he  was  in  a  passion,  and  whom  he 
would  have  liked  to  whip,  for  he  fancied  her  eight  years  of  age. 
He  boxed  his  servant's  ears  energetically,  and  would  say,  "Ah, 
carrion  !  "  One  of  his  oaths  was,  "  By  the  panto/douche  of  the 
pantoitftochade !  "  His  tranquility  was  curious  ;  he  was  shaved 
every  morning  by  a  barber  who  had  been  mad  and  who  detested 
him,  for  he  was  jealous  of  M.  Gillenormand  on  account  of  his 
wife,  who  was  a  pretty  little  coquette.  M.  Gillenormand  ad- 
mired his  own  discernment  in  everything,  and  declared  himself 
extremely  sagacious.  Here  is  one  of  his  remarks, — "  I  have, 
in  truth,  some  penetration.  I  am  able  to  say  when  a  flea  bites 
me,  from  what  woman  I  caught  it."  The  words  he  employed 
most  frequently  were  "the  sensitive  man  "  and  "  nature,"  but 
he  did  not  give  to  the  latter  word  the  vast  acceptation  of  our 
age.  But  there  was  a  certain  amount  of  homeliness  in  his  satir- 
ical remarks.  "  Nature,"  he  would  say,  "  anxious  that  civili- 
zation may  have  a  little  of  everything,  even  gives  it  specimens 
of  amusing  barbarism.  Europe  has  specimens  of  Asia  and 
Africa,  in  a  reduced  size ;  the  cat  is  a  drawing-room  tiger,  the 
lizard  a  pocket  crocodile.  The  ballet  girls  at  the  opera  are 
pink  savagesses ;  they  do  not  eat  men,  but  they  live  on  them  ; 
the  little  magicians  change  them  into  oysters  and  swallow 
them.  The  Caribs  only  leave  the  bones,  and  they  only  leave 
the  shells.  Such  are  our  manners ;  we  do  not  devour,  but  we 
nibble  ;  we  do  not  exterminate,  but  we  scratch." 


CHAPTER  II. 

LIKE    MASTER   LIKE    DWELLING. 

HE  lived  in  the  Marais,  at  No.  6,  Rue  des  Filles  des  Cal- 
vaire,  and  the  house  belonged  to  him.  This  house  has  since 
been  pulled  down  and  rebuilt,  and  the  number  has  probably 


22  LES   MISERABLES. 

been  changed  in  the  numbering  revolutions  which  the  streets 
of  Paris  undergo.  He  occupied  an  old  and  vast  suite  of 
rooms  on  the  first  floor,  furnished  up  to  the  ceiling  with  large 
Goblins  and  Beauvais  tapestry,  representing  shepherd  scenes  ; 
the  subjects  of  the  ceiling  and  panels  were  repeated  in  min- 
ature  upon  the  chairs.  He  surrounded  his  bed  with  an  im- 
mense screen  of  Coromandel  lacquer  work  ;  long  curtains 
hung  from  the  windows,  and  made  very  splendid,  large, 
broken  folds.  The  garden  immediately  under  the  win- 
dows was  reached  by  a  flight  of  twelve  or  fifteen  steps  run- 
ning from  one  of  them,  which  the  old  gentleman  went  up  and 
down  very  nimbly.  In  addition  to  a  library  adjoining  his 
bedroom,  he  had  a  boudoir,  which  he  was  very  fond  of,  a 
gallant  with-drawing-room,  hung  with  a  magnificent  fleur-de- 
lysed  tapestry,  made  in  the  galleys  of  Louis  XIV.,  which 
M.  de  Vivonne  had  ordered  of  his  convicts  for  his  mistress. 
M.  Gillenormand  inherited  this  from  a  stern  maternal  great- 
aunt,  who  died  at  the  age  of  one  hundred.  He  had  had  two 
wives.  His  manners  were  midway  between  those  of  the 
courtier,  which  he  had  never  been,  and  of  the  barrister  which 
he  might  have  been.  He  was  gay  and  pleasing  when  he 
liked ;  in  his  youth  he  had  been  one  of  those  men  who 
are  always  deceived  by  their  wives  and  never  by  their  mis- 
tresses, because  they  are  at  once  the  most  disagreeable  hus- 
bands and  the  most  charming  lovers  imaginable.  He  was  a 
connoisseur  of  pictures,  and  had  in  his  bed-room  a  marvellous 
portrait  of  somebody  unknown,  painted  by  Jordaens  in  a  bold 
style,  and  with  an  infinitude  of  details.  M.  Gillenormand's  coat 
was  not  in  the  style  of  Louis  XV.  or  even  Louis  XVI.,  but  it 
was  in  the  style  of  the  Incredibles  of  the  Directory.  He  had 
believed  himself  quite  a  youth  at  that  time,  and  followed  the 
fashions.  His  coat  was  of  light  cloth  with  large  cuffs,  he  wore 
a  long  cod-pigtal,  and  large  steel  buttons.  Add  to  these  knee- 
breeches  and  buckle-shoes.  He  always  had  his  hands  in  his 
fobs,  and  said  authoritatively,  "  The  French  Resolution  is  a 
collection  of  ragamuffins." 


CHAPTER  III. 

LUKE    ESPRIT. 

AT  the  age  of  sixteen,  when  at  the  opera  one  night,  he  had 
the  honor  of  being  examined  simultaneously  by  two  beauties, 


MARIUS.  23 

at  that  time  celebrated  and  sung  by  Voltaire,  la  Camargo,  and 
la  Salle.  Caught  between  two  fires,  he  beat  an  heroic  retreat 
upon  a  little  dancing-girl  of  the  name  of  Naheury,  sixteen 
years  of  age,  like  himself,  obscure  as  a  cat,  of  whom  he  was 
enamored.  He  abounded  in  recollections,  and  would  exclaim, 
"  How  pretty  that  Guimard-Guimardini-Guimardinette  was, 
the  last  time  I  saw  her  at  Longchamps,  with  her  hair  dressed 
in  '  sustained  feelings,'  her  '  come  and  see  them  '  of  turquoises, 
her  dress  of  the  color  of  '  newly-arrived  people,'  and  her  muff 
of  '  agitation.'"  He  had  worn  in  his  youth  a  jacket  of  Nain- 
Londeur,  to  which  he  was  fond  of  alluding  :  "I  was  dressed 
like  a  Turk  of  the  Levantine  Levant."  Madame  Boufflers, 
seeing  him  accidentally  when  he  was  twenty  years  of  age,  de- 
clared him  to  be  "  a  charming  madcap."  He  was  scandalized 
at  all  the  names  he  saw  in  politics  and  power,  and  considered 
them  low  and  bourgeois.  He  read  the  journals,  the  newspapers, 
the  gazettes,  as  he  called  them,  and  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  Oh  !  " 
he  would  say,  "  who  are  these  people  ?  Corbiere  !  Humann  ! 
Casimir  Perrier  !  there's  a  ministry  for  you  !  I  can  imagine 
this  in  a  paper,  M.  Gillenormand,  minister  ;  it  would  be  a 
farce,  but  they  are  so  stupid  that  it  might  easily  happen."  He 
lightly  called  everything  by  its  proper  or  improper  name,  and 
was  not  checked  by  the  presence  of  ladies ;  and  he  uttered 
coarseness,  obscenity,  and  filth,  with  a  peculiarly  calm  and 
slightly  amazed  accent,  in  which  was  elegance.  That  was  the 
indifference  of  his  age,  for  we  may  draw  attention  to  the  fact 
the  season  of  paraphrases  in  verse  was  that  of  crudities  in 
prose.  His  grandfather  had  predicted  that  he  would  be  a  man 
of  genius,  and  gave  him  the  two  significant  Christian  names, 
Luc  Esprit. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CENTENARIAN   ASPERATION8. 

HE  gained  prizes  in  his  youth  at  the  college  of  Moulins,  in 
which  town  he  was  born,  and  was  crowned  by  the  hand  of  the 
Due  de  Nivernais,  whom  he  called  the  Due  de  Nevers. 
Neither  the  Convention,  the  death  of  Louis  XVI.,  Napoleon, 
nor  the  return  of  the  Bourbons,  had  effaced  the  recollection  of 
this  coronation.  The  Due  de  Nevers  was  to  him  the  grand 
figure  of  the  age,  "  What  a  charming  nobleman,"  be  would 


24  LES   MISERABLES. 

say,  "and  how  well  his  blue  ribbon  became  him  !  In  the  eyes 
of  M.  Gillenormand,  Catharine  II.  repaired  the  crime  of  the 
division  of  Poland,  by  purchasing  of  Bestucheff,  for  three  thou- 
sand rubles,  the  secret  of  the  elixir  of  gold,  and  on  this  point  he 
would  grow  animated.  "  The  elixir  of  gold  !  "  he  would  ex- 
claim. "  BestucheflPs  yellow  tincture  and  the  drops  of  General 
Lamotte  were,  in  the  18th  century,  at  one  louis  the  half-ounce 
bottle,  the  grand  remedy  for  love  catastrophes,  the  panacea 
against  Venus.  Louis  XV.  sent  two  hundred  bottles  of  it  to 
the  Pope."  He  would  have  been  greatly  exasperated  had  he 
been  told  that  the  gold  elixir  is  nothing  but  perchloride  of  iron. 
M.  Gillenormand  adored  the  Bourbons,  and  held  1789  in 
horror ;  he  incessently  described  in  what  way  he  had  escaped 
during  the  reign  of  tei-ror,  and  how  he  had  been  obliged  to  dis- 
play great  gayety  and  wit  in  order  not  to  have  his  head  cut  off. 
If  any  young  man  dared  in  his  presence  to  praise  the  republic, 
he  turned  blue,  and  grew  so  angry  as  almost  to  faint.  Some- 
times he  alluded  to  his  ninety  years. and  said,  "I  trust  that  I 
shall  not  see  '93  twice."  At  other  times,  though,  he  informed 
persons  that  he  intended  to  live  to  be  a  hundred. 


CHAPTER  V. 

BASQUE  AND  NICOLETTE. 

HE  had  his  theories ;  here  is  one  of  them.  "  "When  a  man 
passionately  loves  women,  and  himself  has  a  wife  for  whom  he 
cares  little,  for  she  is  ugly,  legitimate,  full  of  her  rights,  reliant 
on  the  code,  and  jealous  when  she  likes  to  be  so,  he  has  only 
one  way  of  getting  out  of  the  hobble  and  living  at  peace, — it  is 
to  leave  his  purse-strings  to  his  wife.  This  abdication  renders 
him  free  ;  the  wife  is  henceforth  occupied,  grows  passionately 
fond  of  handlingspecie,  verdigrises  her  fingers,  undertakes  to  in- 
struct the  peasants  and  train  the  farmers,  harangues  the  no- 
taries, visits  their  offices,  follows  the  course  of  lawsuits,  draws 
up  leases,  dictates  contracts,  feels  herself  queenly,  sells,  buys, 
regulates,  orders,  promises  and  compromises,  yields,  concedes 
and  recedes,  arranges,  deranges,  saves  and  squanders  ;  she  com- 
mits follies  which  is  a  magisterial  and  personal  happiness,  and 
that  consoles  her.  While  her  husband  despises  her  she  has  the 
satisfaction  of  ruining  her  husband."  This  theory  M.  Gillen- 
ormand applied  to  himself,  and  it  became  his  history.  His  wife, 


MARIUS.  25 

the  second  one  managed  his  fortune  in  such  a  manner  that  one 
fine  day  when  he  found  himself  a  widower,  he  had  just  enough 
to  live  on,  by  buying  an  annuity,  three-fourths  of  which  would 
expire  with  him.  He  had  not  hesitated,  for  he  did  not  care 
much  about  leaving  any  thing  to  his  heir,  and  besides,  he  had 
seen  that  patrimonies  had  their  adventures,  and,  for  instance, 
became  "  national  property  ;  "  he  had  seen  the  avatars  of  the 
three  per  cent,  consols,  and  put  but  little  faith  in  the  great 
book.  "All  this  is  Rue  Quincampoix!  "  he  would  say.  His 
house  in  the  Rue  des  Filles  due  Calvaire  belonged,  as  we 
stated,  to  him,  and  he  had  two  servants,  "  a  he  and  a  she." 
When  a  servant  came  into  his  house  M.  Gillenormand  rechris- 
tened  him,  and  gave  the  men  the  name  of  their  province, 
Nimois,  Comtois,  Poitevin,  or  Picard.  His  last  valet  was  a 
fat,  cunning  man  of  fifty -five,  incapable  of  running  twenty  yards, 
but  as  he  was  born  at  Bayonne  M.  Gillenormand  called  him 
Basque.  As  for  the  maid-servants,  he  called  them  all  Nico- 
lette  (even  la  Magnon,  to  whom  we  shall  allude  directly).  One 
day  a  proud  cook,  a  Cordon  Bleu,  of  the  lofty  porter  race,  pre- 
sented herself.  "  What  wages  do  you  expect  a  month  ?  "  M. 
Gillenormand  asked  her.  "Thirty  francs."  "What  is  your 
name  ?  "  "  Olympic."  "  I  will  give  you  forty,  and  call  vou 
'Nicolette." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

IN    WHICH    WE    SEE    LA   MAGNON  AND  HER  TWO  LITTLE  ONES. 

IN  Gillenormand  sorrow  was  translated  into  passion ;  he 
was  furious  at  being  in  despair.  He  had  every  prejudice  and 
took  every  license.  One  of  the  things  of  which  he  composed 
his  external  relief  and  internal  satisfaction  was,  as  we  have  in- 
dicated,  having  remained  a  gay  fellow,  and  passing  energet- 
ically for  such.  He  called  this  having  a  "  royal  renown,"  but 
this  renown  at  times  brought  him  into  singular  scrapes.  One 
day  a  big  baby,  wrapped  in  rags  and  crying  lustily,  was  brought 
to  him  in  a  basket,  which  a  maid-servant,  discharged  six  months 
previously,  attributed  to  him.  M.  Gillenormand  was  at  that 
time  past  his  eighty-fourth  year,  and  people  around  him  be- 
came indignant  and  clamorous.  "  Does  the  impudent  wench 
expect  to  make  anybody  believe  this  ?  What  audacity  !  what 
an  abominable  calumny !  "  M.  Gillenormand,  however,  did  not 


26  LES  MISERABLES. 

feel  at  all  angry.  He  looked  at  the  brat  with  the  amiab  e 
smile  of  a  man  flattered  by  the  calumny,  and  said  to  the  com- 
pany, "  Well,  what  is  the  matter?  Is  there  any  thing  so  won- 
derful in  it,  that  you  should  stand  there  like  stuck  pigs,  and 
display  your  ignorance  ?  M.  le  Due  d'Angouleme,  bastard  of 
his  Majesty  Charles  IX.,  married  at  the  age  of  eighty-five  a 
girl  of  fifteen  ;  Monsieur  Virginal,  Marquis  d'Alleuze,  and 
brother  of  Cardinal  de  Sourdis,  archbishop  of  Bordeaux,  had, 
at  the  age  of  eighty-three,  by  the  lady's  maid  of  Madame 
Jacquin,  the  president's  wife,  a  lovely  boy,  who  was  a  Knight 
of  Malta,  and  member  of  the  Privy  Council.  One  of  the  great 
men  of  this  age,  Abbe  Tabaraud,  is  the  son  of  a  man  of  eighty- 
seven  years  of  age.  These  things  are  common  enough ;  and 
then  take  the  Bible  !  After  this,  I  declare  that  this  little 
gentleman  is  none  of  mine,  but  take  care  of  him,  for  it  is  not 
his  fault."  The  creature,  the  aforesaid  Magnon,  sent  him  a 
second  parcel  the  next  year,  also  a  boy,  and  M.  Gillenormand 
thought  it  time  to  capitulate.  He  sent  the  two  brats  to  their 
mother,  agreeing  to  pay  eighty  francs  a  month  for  their  sup- 
port, but  on  condition  that  the  mother  was  not  to  begin  again. 
He  added,  "I  expect  that  the  mother  will  treat  them  well,  and 
I  shall  go  and  see  them  now  and  then,"  which  he  did.  He 
had  a  brother,  a  priest,  who  was  for  three-and-thirty  years  rector 
of  the  Poitiers  academy,  and  died  at  the  age  of  seventy-nine. 
"  I  lost  him  when  quite  young,"  he  would  say.  This  brother, 
who  is  not  much  remembered,  was  a  great  miser,  who,  as  he 
was  a  priest,  thought  himself  bound  to  give  alms  to  the  poor  he 
met,  but  he  never  gave  them  aught  but  bad  orcalled-in  money, 
thus  finding  means  of  going  to  Hades  by  the  road  to  Paradise. 
As  for  M.  Gillenormand  the  elder,  he  gave  alms  readily  and 
handsomely  he  was  benevolent,  brusque,  and  charitable,  and 
had  he  been  rich  his  downfall  would  have  been  magnificent. 
He  liked  every  thing  that  concerned  him  to  be  done  grandly  ; 
even  when  he  was  swindled  one  day,  having  been  plundered  in 
the  matter  of  an  inheritance  by  a  man  of  business  in  a  clumsy 
and  evident  way,  he  made  the  solemn  remark,  "  Sir,  that  was 
done  very  awkwardly,  and  I  feel  ashamed  of  such  clumsiness. 
Every  thing  has  degenerated  in  this  age,  even  the  swindlers. 
Morbleu  !  a  man  of  stamp  ought  not  to  be  robbed  in  that  way  ; 
I  was  plundered  as  if  I  were  in  a  wood,  but  badly  blundered, 
sylvce  sint  conmh  dignce  !  "  He  had  married  twice,  as  we  said  ; 
by  his  first  wife  he  had  a  girl,  who  did  marry,  and  by  the 
second  another  girl,  who  died  at  the  age  of  thirty,  and  who 
married  through  love,  or  chance,  or  otherwise,  a  soldier  of  for- 


MARIUS.  27 

tune  who  had  served  in  the  armies  of  the  republic  and  the  em- 
pire, won  the  cross  at  Austerlitz,  and  his  colonel's  commission 
at  Waterloo.  "  He  is  the  disgrace  of  my  family,"  the  old 
gentleman  used  to  say.  He  took  a  great  deal  of  snuff,  and  had 
a  peculiarly  graceful  way  of  shaking  his  shirt-frill  with  the 
back  of  his  hand.  He  believed  very  little  in  God. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

RULE — NEVER  RECEIVE  ANYBODY  EXCEPT  IN  THE  EVENING. 

SUCH  was  M.  Luc  Esprit  Gillenormand,  who  had  not  lost 
his  hair,  which  was  rather  gray  than  white,  and  always  wore  it 
in  dog's  ears.  Altogether  he  was  venerable,  and  contained 
both  the  frivolity  and  grandeur  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

In  1814  and  the  early  years  of  the  Restoration,  M.  Gillenor- 
mand, who  was  still  a  youth — he  was  only  seventy-four — re- 
sided in  the  Rue  Sirvandoni,  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  He  only 
retired  to  the  Marais  on  leaving  society,  that  is  to  say,  long 
after  the  eightieth  year,  and  on  leaving  the  world  he  immured 
himself  in  his  habits ;  the  chief  one,  and  in  that  he  was  invar- 
iable, was  to  keep  his  door  closed  by  day  and  receive  nobody, 
no  matter  the  nature  of  his  business,  till  night.  He  dined  at 
five,  and  then  his  door  was  thrown  open ;  it  was  the  fashion  of 
his  century,  and  he  did  not  like  to  give  it  up.  "  Day  is  low," 
he  would  say,  "  and  only  deserves  closed  shutters."  People 
of  fashion  light  up  their  wit  when  the  zenith  illumines  its  stars, 
and  he  barricaded  himself  against  every  body,  even  had  it  been 
the  king, — such  was  the  fashion  of  his  day. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TWO   WHO   DO   NOT   FORM   A  PAIR. 

As  for  M.  Gillenormand's  two  daughters,  they  were  born  at 
an  interval  of  ten  years.  In  their  youth  they  had  been  very 
little  alike,  and  both  in  character  and  face  were  as  little  sisters 
as  was  possible.  The  younger  was  a  charming  creature,  who 
turned  to  the  light,  loved  flowers,  poetry,  and  music,  was  en- 
thusiastic, ethereal,  and  mentally  betrothed  from  her  youth  up 
to  some  heroic  figure.  The  elder  had  her  chimera  too ;  she 


28  LES   MISERABLES. 

saw  in  the  azure  a  contractor,  some  fat  and  very  rich  man,  a 
splendidly  stupid  husband,  a  million  converted  into  a  man  or 
else  a  prefect,  the  reception  at  the  prefecture,  and  usher  in  the 
ante-room  with  a  chain  round  his  neck,  the  official  balls,  the 
addresses  at  the  mansion-house  to  be  "  Madame  la  Prefete," — 
all  this  buzzed  in  her  imagination.  The  two  sisters  wandered 
each  in  her  own  reverie,  at  the  period  when  they  were  girls, 
and 'tooth  had  wings,  the  one  those  of  an  angel,  the  other  those 
of  a  goose. 

No  ambition  is  fully  realized,  at  least  not  in  this  nether 
world,  and  no  paradise  becomes  earthly  in  our  age.  The 
younger  married  the  man  of  her  dreams,  but  she  was  dead, 
while  the  elder  did  not  marry. 

At  the  period  when  she  enters  into  our  narrative,  she  was 
an  old  virtue,  an  incombustible  pride,  with  one  of  the  most 
acute  noses  and  most  obtuse  intellects  imaginable.  It  is  a 
characteristic  fact  that  beyond  her.  family,  no  one  had  ever 
known  her  family  name  ;  she  was  called  Mademoiselle  Gillenor- 
niand  the  elder. 

In  the  matter  of  cant,  Mademoiselle  Gillenormand  could 
have  given  points  to  a  Miss,  and  she  was  modestly  carried  to 
the  verge  of  blackness.  She  had  one  frightful  reminiscence  in 
her  life — one  day  a  man  saw  her  garter. 

Age  had  only  heightened  this  pitiless  modesty, — her  chemis- 
ette was  never  sufficiently  opaque,  and  never  was  high  enough. 
She  multiplied  brooches  and  pins  at  places  where  no  one 
dreamed  of  looking.  The  peculiarity  of  prudery  is  to  station 
the  more  sentries  the  less  the  fortress  is  menaced. 

Still,  let  who  will  explain  these  old  mysteries  of  innocence, 
she  allowed  herself  to  be  kissed  without  displeasure  by  an  officer 
in  the  Lancers,  who  was  her  grand  nephew,  and  Theodule  by 
name. 

In  spite  of  this  favored  Lancer,  however,  the  ticket  of 
"  Prude  "  which  we  have  set  upon  her,  suited  her  exactly. 
Mademoiselle  Gillenormand's  was  a  species  of  twilight  soul, 
and  prudery  is  a  semi-virtue,  and  a  semi-vice. 

She  added  to  prudery  the  congenial  lining  of  bigotry  ;  she 
belonged  to  the  Sisterhood  of  the  Virgin,  wore  a  white  veil  on 
certain  saints'  days,  muttered  special  orisons,  revered  "the 
holy  blood,"  venerated  "  the  sacred  heart,"  remained  for  hours 
in  contemplation  before  a  rococo-Jesuit  altar  in  a  closed  chapel, 
and  allowed  her  soul  to  soar  among  the  little  marble  clouds  and 
through  the  large  beams  of  gilt  wood. 

She  had  a  chapel  friend,  an  old  maid  like  herself,  of  the  name 


MARIUS.  29 

of  Mile.  Vaubois,  absolutely  imbecile,  and  by  whose  side  Mile. 
Gillenormand  had  the  pleasure  of  being  an  eagle.  Beyond 
Agnus  Deis  and  Ave  Marias,  Mile.  Vaubois  knew  nothing 
except  the  different  ways  of  making  preserves.  Perfect  of  her 
genius,  she  was  the  ermine  of  stupidity,  without  a  single  spot 
of  intelligence. 

We  must  add  that  Mile.  Gillenormand  rather  gained  than 
lost  by  growing  old.  She  had  never  been  wicked,  which  is  a 
relative  goodness  ;  and  then  years  abrade. angles.  She  had  an 
obscure  melancholy,  of  which  she  did  not,  herself,  possess  the 
secret,  and  about  her  entire  person  there  was  a  stupor  of  a 
finished  life  which  has  not  begun. 

She  kept  liouse  for  her  father ;  such  families,  consisting  of  an 
old  man  and  an  old  maid,  are  not  rare,  and  have  the  ever- 
touching  appearance  of  two  weaknesses  supporting  each 
other. 

There  was  also  in  this  house  a  child,  a  little  boy,  who  was 
always  trembling  and  dumb  in  the  old  gentleman's  presence. 
M.  Gillenormand  never  spoke  to  this  boy  except  with  a  stern 
voice,  and  at  times  with  up-raised  cane.  "  Come  here,  sir, — 
scamp,  scoundrel,  come  here, — answer  me,  fellow, — let  me  see 
you,  vagabond  !  "  etc.,  etc.  He  adored  him,- it  was  his  grand- 
son, and  we  shall  meet  him  again. 


30  LES  MISERABLES. 


BOOK  THIRD. 


THE  GRANDFATHER  AND  THE  GRANDSON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AN  OLD  SALON. 

WHEN  M.  Gillenormand  lived  in  the  Rue  Sirvandoni,  ne 
frequented  several  very  good  and  highly  noble  salons.  Although 
a  bourgeois,  M.  Gillenormand  was  welcome  in  (hem,  and  as  he 
had  a  twofold  stock  of  wit,  namely,  that  which  he  had,  and 
that  attributed  to  him,  he  was  sought  after  and  made  much  of. 
There  are  some  people  who  desire  influence  and  to  be  talked 
about,  no  matter  what  price  they  pay  ;  and  when  they  cannot 
be  oracles,  they  make  themselves  buffoons.  M.  Gillenormand 
was  not  of  that  nature  ;  and  his  domination  in  the  royalist 
drawing-rooms  which  he  frequented  did  not  cost  him  any  of 
his  self-respect.  He  was  an  oracle  everywhere,  and  at  times 
he  held  his  own  against  M.  de  Bonald,  and  even  M.  Bengy- 
Puy-Vallee. 

About  1817,  he  invariably  spent  two  afternoons  a  week  at 

the  house  of  the  Baronne  de  T ,  a  worthy  and  respectable 

person,  whose  husband  had  been,  under  Louis  XVI.,  ambas- 
sador to  Berlin.  The  Baron  de  T ,  who,  when  alive,  was 

passionately  devoted  to  magnetic  ecstasies  and  visions,  died 
abroad  a  ruined  man,  leaving  as  his  sole  fortune  ten  MS. 
volumes  bound  in  red  morocco  and  gilt-edged,  which  contained 
very  curious  memoirs  about  Mesmer  and  his  trough.  Madame 

de  T did  not  publish  these  memoirs  through  dignity,  and 

lived  on  a  small  annuity,  which  survived  no  one  knew  how. 

Madame  de  T— lived  away  from  court,  "  which  was  a  very 

mixed  society,"  as  she  said,  in  noble,  proud,  and  poor  isolation. 
Some  friends  collected  twice  a  week  round  her  widow's  fire, 
and  this  constituted  a  pure  royalist  salon.  Tea  was  drunk,  and 
people  uttered  there,  according  as  the  wind  blew  to  elegiac  or 


MARIUS.  31 

dithyrambics,  groans  or  cries  of  horror,  about  the  age,  the 
charter,  the  Bonapartists,  the  prostitution  of  the  Cordon  Bleu 
to  untitled  persons,  and  the  Jacobinism  of  Louis  XVIII. ;  and 
they  also  whispered  about  the  hopes  which  monsieur,  afterwards 
Charles  X.,  produced. 

Low  songs,  in  which  Napoleon  was  called  Nicholas,  were 
greeted  here  with  transports  of  delight.  Duchesses,  the  most 
charming  and  delicate  of  ladies,  went  into  ecstasies  there  about 
couplets  like  the  following,  which  were  addressed  to  the 
"  Federals  : " 

"•  Renfoncez  daus  vos  culottes 
Le  bout  d'cbemise  qui  vous  pend. 
Qu'on  n'dis  pas  qu'les  patriotes 
Ont  arbore"  1'drapeau  blanc !  " 

They  amused  themselves  with  puns  which  they  fancied 
tromendous  with  innocent  jokes  which  they  supposed  venomous, 
with  quatrains  and  even  distichs ;  here  is  one  on  the  Dessolles 
Ministry,  the  moderate  cabinet  of  which  Mons.  Decases  and 
Deserre  formed  part : 

"  Pour  raffermir  le  trone  ebranle*  snr  sa  base, 
II  faut  changer  de  sol,  et  de  serre  et  de  case ; " 

or  else  they  played  upon  the  list  of  the  House  of  Peers,  "  An 
abominable  Jacobin  chamber,"  and  combined  names  on  this  list 
so  as  to  form,  for  instance,  phrases  like  the  following :  "  Damas, 
Sabran,  Gouvion  de  St.  Cyr." 

In  this  society  the  Revolution  was  parodied,  and  they  had 
some  desire  to  sharpen  the  same  passions  in  the  contrary  sense, 
and  sang  their  (a  ira. 

"  Ah !  93  ira !  ca  ira !  $a  ira  ! 
Les  Bnonapartist'  4  la  lanterne  ! " 

Songs  are  like  the  guillotine,  they  cut  off  indiscriminately  to- 
day this  head  and  to-morrow  that.  It  is  only  a  variation. 

In  the  FualdeV  affair,  which  belongs  to  this  period,  1816, 
they  sided  with  Bastide  and  Jansion,  because  Fauldes  was  a 
"  Bonapartist."  They  called  the  liberals  friends  and  brothers, 
and  that  was  the  last  degree  of  insult. 

Like  some  church-steeples,  the  salon  of  the  Baronne  de  T 

had  two  cocks;  one  was  M.  Gillenormand,  the  other  the  Comte 
de  Lamothe  Valois,  of  whom  they  whispered  with  a  species  of 


32  LES   MISERABLES. 

respect, — "  You  know  ?  the  Lamothe  of  the  necklace  business," 
— parties  have  these  singular  amnesties. 

Let  us  add  this;  in  the  bourgeoisie,  honored  situations  are 
lessened  by  too  facile  relations,  and  care  must  be  taken  as  to 
who  is  admitted.  In  the  same  as  there  is  a  loss  of  caloric  in 
the  vicinity  of  cold  persons,  there  is  a  diminution  of  respect  on 
the  approach  of  despised  persons.  The  old  high  society  held 
itself  above  this  law,  as  above  all  others ;  Marigny,  brother  of 
the  Pompadour,  visited  the  Prince  de  Soubise,  not  although, 
but  because  he  was  her  brother.  Du  Barry,  godfather  of  the 
Vaubernier,  is  most  welcome  at  the  house  of  the  Marechal  de 
Richelieu.  That  world  is  Olympus,  and  Mercury  and  the 
Prince  de  Guemenee  are  at  home  in  it.  A  robber  is  admitted 
to  it,  provided  he  be  a  god. 

The  Comte  de  Lamothe,  who,  in  1815,  was  seventy-five 
years  of  age,  had  nothing  remarkable  about  him  beyond  his 
silent  and  sententious  air,  his  angular  and  cold  face,  his  per- 
fectly polite  manners,  his  coat  buttoned  up  to  the  chin,  and  his 
constantly  crossed  legs,  covered  with  trousers  of  the  color  of 
burnt  Sienna.  His  face  was  the  same  color  as  his  trousers. 

This  M.  de  Lamothe  was  esteemed  in  this  salon  on  account 
of  his  "  celebrity,"  and,  strange  to  say,  but  true,  on  account  of 
his  name  of  Valois. 

As  for  M.  Gillenormand,  the  respect  felt  for  him  was  of  per- 
fectly good  alloy.  He  was  an  authority  ;  in  spite  of  his  levity, 
he  had  a  certain  imposing,  worthy,  honest  and  haughty  manner, 
which  did  not  at  all  injure  his  gayety,  and  his  great  age  added 
to  it.  A  man  is  not  a  century  with  impunity,  and  years 
eventually  form  a  venerable  fence  around  a  head. 

He  made  remarks,  too,  which  had  all  the  sparkle  of  the  old 
regime.  Thus,  when  the  King  of  Prussia,  after  restoring 
Louis  XVIII. ,  paid  him  a  visit  under  the  name  of  the  Comte 
de  Ruppin,  he  was  received  by  the  descendant  of  Louis  XIV., 
somewhat  as  if  he  were  Marquis  de  Brandebourg,  and  with  the 
most  delicate  impertinence.  Mr.  Gillenormand  approved  of  it. 
"  All  kings  who  are  not  king  of  France,"  he  said,  "  are  pro- 
vincial kings."  One  day  the  following  question  was  asked, 
and  answer  given  in  his  presence, — "What  has  been  done 
about  the  editor  of  the  Courrier  Franfais?"  "He  is  to  be 
changed."  "  There's  a  c  too  much,"  M.  Gillenormand  dryly 
observed. 

At  an  anniversary  Te  Deum  for  the  return  of  the  Bourbons, 
on  seeing  M.  de  Talleyrand  pass,  he  said, — "  There's  his  excel- 
lency the  Devil." 


MARIUS.  33 

M.  Gillenormand  was  generally  accompanied  by  his  daughter, 
a  tall  young  lady,  who  at  that  time  was  forty  and  looked  fifty  ; 
and  by  a  pretty  boy  of  nine  years  of  age,  red  and  white,  fresh, 
with  happy,  confident  eyes,  who  never  appeared  in  this  drawing- 
room  without  hearing  all  the  voices  buzz  around  him, — "  How 
pretty  he  is  !  what  a  pity,  poor  boy  !  "  This  lad  was  the  one 
to  whom  we  referred  just  now,  and  he  was  called  'poor  boy,' 
because  he  had  for  father  "  a  brigand  of  the  Loire." 

This  brigand  was  that  son-in-law  of  M.  Gillenormand,  who 
has  already  been  mentioned,  and  whom  the  old  gentleman 
called  the  "  disgrace  of  his  family." 


CHAPTER  II. 

A    RED    SPECTRE    OP    THAT    DAY. 

ANY  one  who  had  passed  at  that  period  through  the  little 
Jown  of  Vernon,  and  walked  on  the  handsome  stone  bridge, 
which,  let  us  hope,  will  soon  be  succeeded  by  some  hideous 
wire  bridge,  would  have  noticed,  on  looking  over  the  parapet, 
a  man  of  about  fifty,  wearing  a  leathern  cap,  and  trousers  and 
jacket  of  coarse  gray  cloth,  to  which  something  yellow,  which 
had  been  a  red  ribbon,  was  sewn,  with  a  face  tanned  by  the 
sun,  and  almost  black,  and  hair  almost  white,  with  a  large  scar 
on  his  forehead,  and  running  down  his  cheek,  bowed  and 
prematurely  aged,  walking  almost  every  day,  spade  and  pick  in 
hand,  in  one  of  the  walled  enclosures  near  the  bridge,  which 
border,  like  a  belt  of  terraces,  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine. 
There  are  delicious  enclosures  full  of  flowers,  of  which  you 
might  say,  were  they  much  larger,  "  they  are  gardens,"  and  if 
they  were  a  little  smaller,  "  they  are  bouquets."  All  these 
enclosures  join  the  river  at  one  end  and  a  house  at  the  other. 
The  man  in  the  jacket  and  wooden  shoes,  to  whom  we  have 
alluded,  occupied  in  1817  the  narrowest  of  these  enclosures  and 
the  smallest  of  these  houses.  He  lived  there  alone  and  solitary, 
silently  and  poorly,  with  a  woman  who  was  neither  young  nor 
old,  neither  pretty  nor  ugly,  neither  peasant  nor  bourgeoise, 
who  waited  on  him.  The  square  of  land  which  he  called  his 
garden  was  celebrated  in  the  town  for  the  beauty  of  the  flowers 
he  cultivated,  and  they  were  his  occupation. 

Through  his  toil,  perseverance,  attention,  and  watering-pot, 
he  had  succeeded  in  creating  after  the  Creator ;  and  he  had 


34  LES   MISERABLES. 

invented  sundry  tulips  and  dahlias  which  seemed  to  have  been 
forgotten  by  nature.  He  was  ingenious,  and  proceeded  Soulange 
Bodin  in  the  formation  of  small  patches  of  peat-soil  for  the 
growth  of  the  rare  and  precious  shrubs  of  America  and  China. 
From  daybreak  in  summer  he  was  in  his  walks,  pricking  out, 
clipping,  hoeing,  watering,  or  moving  among  his  flowers,  with  an 
air  of  kindness,  sorrow,  and  gentleness.  At  times  he  would 
stand  thoughtful  and  motionless  for  hours,  listening  to  the  song 
of  a  bird  in  a  tree,  the  prattle  of  a  child  in  a  house,  or  else  gaz- 
ing at  a  drop  of  dew  on  a  blade  of  grass,  which  the  sun  converted 
into  a  carbuncle.  He  lived  very  poorly,  and  drank  more  milk 
than  wine  :  a  child  made  him  give  way,  and  his  servant  scolded 
him.  He  was  timid  to  such  an  extent  that  he  seemed  stern, 
went  out  rarely,  and  saw  no  one  but  the  poor,  who  tapped  at 
his  window,  and  his  cure,  Abbe  Maboeuf,  a  good  old  man. 
Still,  if  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  or  strangers,  curious  to  see 
his  roses  or  tulips,  came  and  tapped  at  his  little  door,  he  opened 
it  with  a  smile.  He  was  the  brigand  of  the  Loire. 

Any  one  who,  at  the  same  time,  read  military  Memoirs  and 
Biographies,  the  Moniteur  and  the  bulletins  of  the  great  army, 
might  have  been  struck  by  a  name  which  pretty  often  turns  up, 
that  of  George  Pontmercy.  "When  quite  a  lad  this  Pontmercy 
was  a  private  in  the  Saiutonge  regiment,  and  when  the  Revo- 
lution broke  out,  this  regiment  formed  part  of  the  army  of  the 
Rhine,  for  the  regiments  of  the  monarchy  kept  their  provincial 
names  even  after  the  fall  of  the  monarchy,  and  were  not  brigaded 
till  1794.  Pontmercy  fought  at  Spires,  Worms,  Neustadt, 
Turkheim,  Alzey,  and  at  Mayence,  where  he  was  one  of  the 
two  hundred  who  formed  Houchard's  rear-guard.  He  with 
eleven  others,  held  out  against  the  corps  of  the  Prince  of 
Hesse  behind  the  old  rampart  of  Andernach,  and  did  not  fall 
back  on  the  main  body  until  the  enemy's  guns  had  opened  a 
breach  from  the  parapet  to  the  talus.  He  was  under  Kleber  at 
Marchiennes,  and  at  the  fight  of  Mont  Palissel,  where  his  arm 
was  broken  by  a  rifle-ball ;  then  he  went  to  the  frontier  of  Italy, 
and  was  one  of  the  thirty  who  defended  the  Col  de  Tendawith 
Joubert.  Joubert  was  appointed  adjutant-general,  and  Pont- 
mercy sub-lieutenant ;  he  was  by  Berthier's  side  in  the  middle 
of  the  cannister  on  that  day  of  Lodi  which  made  Bonaparte 
say,  "  Berthier  was  gunner,  trooper,  and  grenadier."  He  saw 
his  old  general  Joubert  fall  at  Novi  at  the  moment  when  he  was 
shouting,  with  uplifted  sabre,  "  Forward!  "  Having  embarked 
with  his  company  on  board  a  cutter,  which  sailed  from  Genoa 
to  some  little  port  of  the  coast,  he  fell  into  a  wasps'  nest  of 


MARIUS.  35 

seven  of  eight  English  sail.  The  Genoese  commandant 
wished  to  throw  his  guns  into  the  sea,  hide  the  soldiers  in  the 
hold,  and  pass  like  a  merchant  vessel,  but  Pontmercy  had  the 
tricolor  flag  hoisted  at  the  peak,  and  proudly  passed  under  the 
guns  of  the  British  frigates.  Twenty  leagues  further  on,  his 
audacity  increasing,  he  attacked  and  captured  a  large  English 
transport  conveying  troops  to  Sicily,  and  so  laden  with  men 
and  horses  that  Ihe  vessel's  deck  was  almost  flush  with  the  sea. 
In  1805  he  belonged  to  Malher's  division,  which  took  Gunz- 
bourg  from  the  Archduke  Ferdinand,  and  at  Wettingen  he 
caught  in  his  arms,  umid  a  shower  of  bullets,  Colonel  Maupilet, 
who  was  mortally  wounded  at  the  head  of  the  9th  Dragoons. 
He  distinguished  himself  at  Austerlitz  in  that  admirable  march 
in  columns  of  companies  performed  under  the  enemy's  fire  ; 
and  when  the  Russian  Imperial  Horse  Guards  destroyed  one 
of  the  battalions  of  the  4th  line  Infantry,  Pontmercy  was 
among  those  who  took  their  revenge,  and  drew  back  these 
Guards.  For  this  the  emperor  gave  him  the  cross.  Pontmercy 
saw  in  turn  Wurmser  made  prisoner  at  Mantua,  Meles  at 
Alessandria,  and  Mack  at  Ulm,  and  he  belonged  to  the  eighth 
corps  of  the  grand  army  which  Mortier  commanded,  and  which 
took  Hamburg.  Then  he  joined  the  55th  regiment  of  the  line, 
which  was  the  old  regiment  of  Flanders ;  at  Eylau,  he  was  in 
the  cemetery  where  the  heroic  Captain  Louis  Hugo,  uncle  of  the 
author  of  this  book,  withstood,  with  his  company  of  eighty- 
three  men,  for  two  hours,  the  whole  effort  of  the  enemy's  army. 
Pontmercy  was  one  of  the  three  who  left  this  cemetery  alive. 
He  was  at  Friedland  ;  then  he  saw  Moscow,  the  Beresina,  Lutzen, 
Bautzen,  Dresden,  Wacha,  Leipsic,  and  the  defiles  of  Geln- 
hausen ;  then  at  Montmereil,  Chateau-Thierry,  Craon,  the 
banks  of  the  Marne,  the  Banks  of  the  Aisne,  and  the  formida- 
ble position  of  Laon.  At  Arnay  le  Due,  as  captain,  he  sabered 
ten  Cossacks,  and  saved  not  his  general,  but  his  corporal  ;  he 
was  cut  to  pieces  on  this  occasion,  and  seven-and-twenty 
splinters  were  taken  out  of  his  left  arm  alone.  Eight  days  be- 
fore the  capitulation  of  Paris  he  exchanged  with  a  comrade 
and  entered  the  cavalry ;  for  he  had  what  was  called  under  the 
old  regime  a  "double  hand,"  that  is  to  say,  an  equal  aptitude 
in  handling  as  private,  a  sabre  or  musket,  as  officer,  a  squadron 
or  a  company.  From  this  aptitude,  improved  by  military  edu- 
cation, special  arms  sprang,  for  instance,  the  dragoons,  who  are 
at  once  cavalry  and  infantry.  He  accompanied  Napoleon  to 
Elba,  and  at  Waterloo  was  a  major  of  cuirassiers  in  Dubois' 
brigade.  It  was  be  who  took  the  colors  of  the  Limburg  bat- 


36  LES   MISERABLES, 

talion,  and  himself  threw  them  at  the  emperor's  feet.  He  was 
covered  with  blood,  for,  on  seizing  the  colors,  he  received  a 
sabre  cut  across  the  face.  The  emperor,  who  was  pleased,  cried 
out  to  him,  "  You  are  a  colonel,  a  baron,  and  officer  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor  !  "  Pontmercy  answered, — "  Sire,  I  thank 
you  on  behalf  of  my  widow."  An  hour  later  he  fell  into  the 
ravine  of  Ohain.  And  now  who  was  this  George  Pontmercy  ? 
He  was  the  same  brigand  of  the  Loire. 

We  have  already  seen  some  portion  of  his  history.  After 
Waterloo,  Pontmercy,  drawn  as  we  remember  out  of  the  hollow 
way  of  Ohain,  succeeded  in  rejoining  the  army,  and  dragged 
himself  from  ambulance  to  ambulance  as  far  as  the  cantonments 
of  the  Loire. 

The  Restoration  put  him  on  half  pay,  and  then  sent  him  to 
Vernon,  under  honorable  surveillance.  King  Louis  XVIII., 
regarding  all  that  was  done  in  the  Hundred  Days  as  if  it  had 
not  happened,  recognized  neither  his  quality  as  officer  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  nor  his  commission  as  colonel,  nor  his  title 
as  baron.  He  for  his  part  neglected  no  opportunity  to  sign 
himself  "  Colonel  Baron  de  Pontmercy."  He  had  only  one 
old  blue  coat,  and  never  went  out  without  attaching  to  it  the 
rosette  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  The  king's  attorney  advised 
him  that  he  would  be  tried  for  illegally  wearing  this  decoration, 
and  when  this  hint  was  given  him  by  an  officious  intermediator, 
Pontmercy  replied,  with  a  bitter  smile,  "  I  do  not  know  whether 
it  is  that  I  no  longer  understand  French,  or  whether  you  are 
not  speaking  it,  but  the  fact  remains  the  same.  I  do  not  un- 
derstand you."  Then  he  went  out  for  eight  days  in  succession 
with  his  rosette,  and  the  authorities  did  not  venture  to  interfere 
with  him.  Twice,  or  thrice  the  minister  of  war  or  the  gen- 
eral commanding  the  department  wrote  to  him  with  the  follow- 
ing superscription  ;  "  M.  le  Commandant  Pontmercy,"  and  he 
sent  back  the  letters  unopened.  At  the  same  moment  Napo- 
leon at  St.  Helena  was  treating  in  the  same  fashion  the  mis- 
sives of  Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  addressed  to  "  General  Bonaparte." 
If  we  may  be  forgiven  the  remark,  Pontmercy  finished  by  hav- 
the  same  saliva  in  his  mouth  as  the  emperor. 

There  were  also  at  Rome,  Carthaginian  prisoners  who  refused 
to  salute  Flaminius,  and  had  a  little  of  Hannibal's  soul  in 
them. 

One  morning  he  met  the  king's  attorney  in  a  street  of  Ver- 
non, went  up  to  him,  and  said,  "  Monsieur  le  Procureur  du  Roi, 
am  I  allowed  to  wear  my  scar  ?  " 

He  had  nothing  but  his  scanty  half-pay  as  major,  and  he  had 


MARIUS.  37 

taken  the  smallest  house  in  Vernon,  where  he  lived  alone,  in 
what  way  we  have  just  seen.  Under  the  empire  and  between 
two  wars  he  found  time  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Gillenormand. 
The  old  bourgeois,  who  was  indignant  in  his  heart,  concluded 
with  a  sigh  and  saying,  "  The  greatest  families  are  forced  into 
it."  In  1815,  Madame  Pontmercy,  a  most  admirable  woman 
in  every  respect,  and  worthy  of  her  husband,  died,  leaving  a 
child.  This  child  would  have  been  the  colonel's  delight  in  his 
solitude,  but  the  grandfather  imperiously  claimed  him,  declaring 
that  if  he  were  not  given  up  to  him  he  would  disinherit  him. 
The  father  yielded  for  the  sake  of  the  little  one,  and,  unable 
to  love  his  son,  he  took  to  loving  flowers. 

He  had,  however,  given  up  every  thing,  and  did  not  join  the 
opposition  or  conspire.  He  shared  his  thoughts  between  the 
innocent  things  he  did  and  the  great  things  he  had  done,  and 
he  spent  his  time  in  hoping  for  a  carnation  or  calling  to  mind 
Austerlitz. 

M.  Gillenormand  kept  up  no  relations  with  his  son-in-law  ; 
the  colonel  was  to  him  a  "  bandit,"  and  he  was  for  the  colonel 
an  "  ass."  M.  Gillenormand  never  spoke  about  the  colonel, 
except  at  times  to  make  mocking  allusions  to  "  his  barony."  It 
was  expressly  stipulated  that  Pontmercy  should  never  attempt 
to  see  his  son  or  speak  to  him,  under  penalty  of  having  him 
thrown  on  his  hands  disinherited.  To  the  Gillenormands, 
Pontmercy  was  a  plague  patient,  and  they  intended  to  bring  up 
the  child  after  their  fashion.  The  colonel  perhaps  did  wrong 
in  accepting  these  terms,  but  he  endured  them,  in  the  belief 
.that  he  was  acting  rightly}  and  only  sacrificing  himself. 

The  inheritance  of  the  grandfather  was  a  small  matter,  but 
that  of  Mile.  Gillenormand  the  elder  •was  considerable,  for  this 
aunt  was  very  rich  on  her  mother's  side,  and  her  sister's  son 
was  her  natural  heir.  The  boy,  who  was  called  Marius,  knew 
that  he  had  a  father,  but  nothing  more,  and  no  one  opened  his 
lips  to  him  on  the  subject.  Still,  in  the  society  to  which  his 
grandfather  took  him,  the  whisperings  and  winks  eventually 
produced  light  in  the  boy's  mind  ;  he  understood  something  at 
last,  and,  as  he  naturally  accepted,  by  a  species  of  infiltration 
and  slow  penetration,  the  ideas  and  opinions  which  were,  so  to 
speak,  his  breathing  medium,  he  gradually  came  to  think  of  his 
fatlx-r  only  with  shame. 

While  he  was  thus  growing  up  in  this  way,  the  colonel  every 
two  or  three  months  came  furtively  to  Paris,  like  a  convict 
who  is  breaking  his  ban,  and  posted  himself  at  St  Sulpice,  at 
the  hour  when  Aunt  Gillenormand  took  Marius  to  mass. 


38  LES   MISERABLES. 

Trembling  lest  the  aunt  should  turn  round,  concealed  behind  a 
pillar,  motionless,  and  scarce  daring  to  breathe,  he  looked  at 
this  boy — the  scarred  warrior  was  frightened  at  this  old  maid. 

From  this  very  circumstance  emanated  his  friendship  with 
the  Abbe*  Maboeuf,  cure"  of  Vernon. 

This  worthy  priest  had  a  brother,  churchwarden  of  St.  Sulpice, 
who  had  several  times  noticed  this  man  contemplating  his  child, 
and  the  scar  on  his  cheek,  and  the  heavy  tear  in  his  eye.  This 
man,  who  looked  so  thoroughly  a  man,  who  wept  like  a  child, 
struck  the  churchwarden,  and  this  face  adhered  to  his  memory. 
One  day  when  he  went  to  Vernon  to  see  his  brother  he  met  on 
the  bridge  Colonel  Pontmercy,  and  recognized  his  man  of  St. 
Sulpice.  The  churchwarden  told  the  affair  to  the  cure,  and 
both  made  some  excuse  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  colonel.  This 
visit  led  to  others,  and  the  colonel,  though  at  first  very  close, 
eventually  opened  his  heart,  and  the  cure  and  the  churchwarden 
learnt  the  whole  story,  and  how  Pontmercy  sacrificed  his  own 
happiness  to  the  future  of  his  child.  The  result  was  that  the 
cure  felt  a  veneration  and  tenderness  for  him,  and  the  colonel, 
on  his  side,  took  the  cure  into  his  affection.  By  the  way,  when 
both  are  equally  sincere  and  good,  no  men  amalgamate  more 
easily  than  an  old  priest  and  an  old  soldier,  for  they  are  the  same 
men  at  the  bottom.  One  devotes  himself  to  his  country 
down  here,  the  other  to  his  country  up  there  ;  that  is  the  sole 
difference. 

Twice  a  year,  on  January  1st,  and  St.  George's  day,  Marius 
wrote  his  father  letters  dictated  by  his  aunt,  and  which  looked 
as  if  copied  from  a  hand-book,  for  that  was  all  M.  Gillenor- 
mand  tolerated ;  and  the  father  sent  very  affectionate  replies, 
which  the  grandfather  thrust  into  his  pocket  without  reading. 


CHAPTER    III. 

REQUIESCANT  ! 

THE  salon  of  Madame  de  T.  was  all  that  Marius  Pontmercy 
knew  of  the  world,  and  it  was  the  sole  opening  by  which  he  could 
look  out  into  life.  This  opening  was  gloomy,  and  more  cold 
than  heat,  more  night  than  day,  reached  him  through  his  trap. 
This  boy,  who  was  all  joy  and  light  on  entering  the  strange 
world,  became  thus,  in  a  short  time,  sad,  and  what  is  more  con- 
frary  still  to  his  age,  serious.  Surrounded  by  all  these  impo§* 


MARIUS.  39 

ing  and  singular  persons,  lie  looked  about  him  with  serious 
astonishment,  and  all  contributed  to  augment  his  stupor. 
There  were  in  Madame  de  T.'s  drawing-room  old,  noble,  and 
very  venerable  ladies,  who  called  themselves  Mathau,  Noe", 
Levis,  pronounced  Levi,  and  Cambis,  pronounced  Cambyse. 
These  ancient  faces  and  these  biblical  names  were  mingled  in 
the  boy's  mind  with  his  Old  Testament  which  he  learnt  by 
heart,  and  when  they  were  all  present,  seated  in  a  circle  round 
an  expiring  fire,  scarce  illumined  by  a  green  shaded  lamp,  with 
their  severe  faces,  their  gray  or  white  hair,  their  long  dresses 
of  another  age,  in  which  only  mournful  colors  could  be  seen, 
and  uttering  at  lengthened  intervals  words  at  once  majestic  and 
stern  ;  little  Marius  regarded  them  with  wandering  eyes  and 
fancied  that  he  saw  not  women,  but  patriarchs,  and  Magi, — not 
real  beings,  but  ghosts. 

With  these  ghosts  were  mingled  several  priests,  habitues  of 
this  old  salon,  and  a  few  gentlemen  :  the  Marquis  de  Sass****, 
secretary  to  Madame  de  Berry;  the  Vicomte  de  Yal***,  who 
published  odes  under  the  pseudonym  of  Charles  Antoine  ;  the 
Prince  de  Beauf*******,  who,  though  still  young,  had  a  gray 
head  and  a  pretty,  clever  wife,  whose  dress  of  scarlet  velvet, 
with  gold  embroidery,  cut  very  low  in  the  neck,  startled  this 
gloom  ;  the  Marquis  de  C*****,  d'E******,  the  French- 
man, who  was  most  acquainted  with  "  graduated  politeness  ;  " 
the  Comte  d'Am*****,  a  gentleman  with  a  benevolent  chin; 
and  the  Chevalier  de  Port  de  Guy,  the  pillar  of  the  library  of 
the  Louvre,  called  the  King's  Cabinet.  M.  de  Port  de  Guy, 
bald  and  rather  aging  than  old,  used  to  tell  how,  in  1793,  when 
he  was  sixteen  years  of  age,  he  was  placed  in  the  hulks  as  re- 
fractory, and  chained  to  an  octogenarian,  the  bishop  of  Mire- 
poix,  also  a  refractory,  but  as  priest,  while  he  was  so  as  soldier. 
It  was  at  Toulon,  and  their  duty  was  to  go  at  night  and  collect 
on  the  scaffold  the  heads  and  bodies  of  persons  guillotined  dur- 
ing the  day.  They  carried  these  dripping  trunks  on  their 
backs,  and  their  red  jackets  had  behind  the  nape  of  the  neck  a 
crust  of  blood,  which  was  dry  in  the  morning  and  moist  at 
night.  These  tragical  narratives  abounded  in  the  salon  of 
Madame  de  T.,  and  through  cursing  Marat  they  came  to  ap- 
plaud Trestaillon.  A  few  deputies  of  the  "  introuvable  "  sort 
played  their  rubber  of  whist  there  ;  for  instance,  M.  Thebord 
du  Chalard,  M.  Lemaribaud  de  Gomicourt,  and  the  celebrated 
jester  of  the  right  division,  M.  Cornet  Dincort.  The  Bailli  de 
Ferrette,  with  hie  knee  breeches  and  thin  legs,  at  times  passed 
through  this  room,  when  proceeding  to  M.  de  Talleyrand's; 


40  LES   MISERABLES. 

he  bad  been  a  companion  of  the  Comte  d'Artois,  and,  acting  in 
tbe  oppposite  way  to  Aristotle  reclining  on  Campaspe,  he  had 
made  the  Guimard  crawl  on  all  fours,  and  thus  displayed  to 
ages  a  philosopher  avenged  by  a  Bailli. 

As  for  the  priests  there  was  the  Abbe  Halma,  the  same  to 
whom  M.  Larose,  his  fellow-contributor  on  la  Foudre,  said, 
"  Stuff,  who  is  not  fifty  years  of  age?  a  few  bobble-de-hoys, 
perhaps."  Then  came  the  Abbe  Letourneur,  preacher  to  the 
king ;  the  Abbe  Frayssinous,  who  at  that  time  was  neither 
bishop,  count,  minister,  nor  peer,  and  who  wore  a  soutane, 
from  which  buttons  were  absent,  and  the  Abbe  Keravenant, 
cure  of  St.  Germain  des  Pres.  To  them  must  be  added  the 
Papal  Nuncio,  at  that  date  Monsignore  Macchi,  archbishop  of 
Nisibi,  afterwards  cardinal,  and  remarkable  for  his  long  pen- 
sive nose  ;  and  another  rnonsignore,  whose  titles  ran  as  follows  : 
Abbate  Palmieri,  domestic  prelate,  one  of  the  seven  prothon- 
otaries  sharing  in  the  holy  see,  canon  of  the  glorious  Liberian 
Basilica,  and  advocate  of  the  saints,  postulatore  Dei  Santi,  an 
office  relating  to  matters  of  canonization,  and  meaning  very 
nearly,  referendary  to  the  department  of  Paradise.  Finally, 
there  were,  too,  Cardinal  M.  de  la  Luzeren,  and  M.  de 
C1  ******  T*******_  The  Cardinal  de  Luzeren 

was  an  author,  and  was  destined  to  have  the  honor  a  few  years 
later  of  signing  articles  in  the  Conservateur  side  by  side  with 
Chateaubriand,  while  M.  de  Cl  ******  -p******* 
was  archbishop  of  Toulouse,  and  frequently  spent  the  summer 
in  Paris  with  his  nephew,  the  Marquis  de  T*******, 
who  had  been  minister  of  the  navy  and  of  war.  This  cardinal 
was  a  merry  little  old  gentleman,  who  displayed  his  red  stock- 
ings under  his  ragged  cassock.  His  speciality  was  hating  the 
encyclopedia  and  playing  madly  at  billiards  ;  and  persons  who 
on  summer  evenings  passed  along  the  Rue  M  ******, 
where  the  Marquis  de  T*******  resided,  stopped  to 
listen  to  the  sound  of  the  balls  and  the  sharp  voice  of  the  card- 
inal crying  to  his  conclavist  Monseigneur  Cottret,  bishop  in 
partibus  of  Caryste,  "  Mark  me  a  cannon,  abbe"."  The  Card- 
inal de  C******T*******  had  been  introduced  to 

Madame  de  T by  his  most  intimate  friend,  M.  de  Roque- 

laure,  ex-bishop  of  Senlis  and  one  of  the  Forty.  M.  de  Roque- 
laure  was  remarkable  for  his  great  height  and  his  assiduity  at 
the  Academy.  Through  the  glass  door  of  the  room  adjoining 
the  library,  in  which  the  French  Academy  at  that  time  met, 
curious  persons  could  contemplate  every  Thursday  the  ex- 
bishop  of  Senlis,  usually  standing  with  hair  freshly  powdered, 


MARIUS.  41 

in  violet  stockings,  and  turning  his  back  to  the  door,  apparently 
to  display  his  little  collar  the  better.  All  these  ecclesiastics, 
although  mostly  courtiers  as  much  as  churchmen,  added  to  the 
gravity  of  the  salon,  to  which  five  peers  of  France,  the  Mar-' 
quis  de  Vib — ,  the  Marquis  de  Tal — ,  the  Marquis  d'Herb — , 
the  Vicomte  Damb — ,  and  the  Due  de  Val — ,  imparted  the 
lordly  tone.  This  Due  de  Val — ,  though  Prince  de  Men — , 
that  is  to  say,  a  foreign  sovereign  prince,  had  so  lofty  an  idea 
of  France  and  the  peerage,  that  he  looked  at  every  thing 
through  them.  It  was  he  who  said,  "  the  cardinals  are  the 
peers  of  France  of  Rome,  and  the  lords  are  the  peers  of  France 
of  England."  Still,  as  in  the  present  age  the  Revolution 
must  be  everywhere,  this  feudal  salon  was  ruled,  as  we  have 
seen,  by  M.  Gillenormand,  a  bourgeois. 

It  was  the  essence  and  quintessence  of  white  Parisian  society, 
and  reputations,  even  royalist  ones,  were  kept  in  quarantine 
there,  for  there  is  always  anarchy  in  reputation.  Had  Chateau- 
briand come  in  he  would  have  produced  the  effect  of  Pere 
Duchesne.  Some  converts,  however,  entered  this  orthodox 
society  through  a  spirit  of  toleration.  Thus  the  Comte  de 
Beng  *  *  *  was  admitted  for  the  purpose  of  correction. 

The  "  noble  "  salons  of  the  present  day  in  no  way  resemble 
the  one  which  I  am  describing,  for  the  royalists  of  to-day,  let 
us  say  it  in  their  praise,  are  demagogues. 

At  Madam  de  T.'s,  the  society  was  superior,  and  the  taste 
exquisite  and  haughty  beneath  a  grand  bloom  of  politeness. 
The  habits  there  displayed  all  sorts  of  involuntary  refinement, 
which  was  the  ancient  regime  itself,  which  lived  though  in- 
terred. Some  of  these  habits,  especially  in  conversation, 
seemed  whimsical,  and  superficial  persons  would  have  been 
taken  for  provincialism  what  was  merely  antiquated.  They 
called  a  lady  "  Madame  la  Generale,"  and  "  Madame  la  Col- 
onelle "  had  not  entirely  been  laid  aside.  The  charming 
Madame  de  Leon,  doubtless  remembering  the  Duchesses  de 
Longueville  and  de  Chevreuse,  preferred  that  appellation  to 
her  title  of  princess,  and  the  Marquise  de  Crequy  was  also 
called  "  Madame  la  Colonelle." 

It  was  this  small  high  society  which  invented  at  the  Tuileries 
the  refinement  of  always  speaking  of  the  king  in  the  third  per- 
son, and  never  saying,  "  Your  majesty,"  as  that  qualification 
had  been  "sullied  by  the  usurper." 

Facts  and  men  were  judged  there,  and  the  age  was  ridiculed 
— which  saved  the  trouble  of  comprehending  it.  They  assisted 
one  another  in  amazement,  and  communicated  mutually  the 


42  LES  MISERABLES. 

amount  of  enlightenment  they  possessed.  Methusalem  in« 
structed  Epimenides,  and  the  deaf  man  put  the  blind  man 
straight.  The  time  which  had  elapsed  since  Coblenz  was  de- 
clared not  to  have  passed,  and  in  the  same  way  as  Louis 
XVIII.  was  Dei  gratia  in  the  twenty-fifth  year  of  his  reign, 
th«  emigres  were  de  jure  in  the  twenty-fifth  year  of  their  adol- 
escence. 

Every  thing  harmonized  there  :  no  one  was  too  lively,  the 
speech  was  like  a  breath,  and  the  newspapers,  in  accordance 
with  the  salon,  seemed  a  papyrus.  The  liveries  in  the  ante- 
room were  old,  and  these  personages  who  had  completely 
passed  away  were  served  by  footmen  of  the  same  character. 
All  this  had  the  air  of  having  lived  a  long  time  and  obstinately 
struggling  against  the  tomb.  To  conserve,  conservation,  con- 
servative, represented  nearly  their  entire  dictionary  and  the 
question  was  "to  be  in  good  odor."  There  were  really  aro- 
matics  in  the  opinions  of  these  venerable  groups,  and  their 
ideas  smelt  of  vervain.  It  was  a  mummy  world,  in  which  the 
masters  were  embalmed  and  the  servants  stuffed. 

A  worthy  old  marchioness,  ruined  by  the  emigration,  who 
had  only  one  woman-servant  left,  continued  to  say,  "  My  peo- 
ple." 

What  did  they  do  in  Madame  de  T.'s  salon  ?  They  were 
ultra. 

This  remark,  though  what  it  represents  has  possibly  not  dis- 
appeared, has  no  meaning  at  the  present  day,  so  let  us  explain 
it. 

To  be  ultra  is  going  beyond  ;  it  is  attacking  the  sceptre  in 
the  name  of  the  throne  and  the  mitre  in  the  name  of  the  altar; 
it  is  mismanaging  the  affair  you  have  in  hand  ;  it  is  kicking 
over  the  traces;  it  is  quarreling  with  the  executioners  as  to  the 
degree  of  boiling  which  heretics  should  undergo  ;  it  is  reproach- 
ing the  idol  for  its  want  of  idolatry  ;  it  is  insulting  through  ex- 
cess of  respect ;  it  is  finding  in  the  pope  insufficient  papism,  in 
the  king  too  little  royalty,  and  too  much  light  in  the  night ;  it 
is  being  dissatisfied  with  alabaster,  snow,  the  swan,  and  the  lily, 
on  behalf  of  whiteness  ;  it  is  being  a  partisan  of  things  to  such 
a  pitch  that  you  become  their  enemy  ;  it  is  being  so  strong  for, 
that  you  become  against. 

The  ultra  spirit  specially  characterizes  the  first  phase  of  the 
Restoration. 

Nothing  in  history  ever  resembled  that  quarter  of  an  hour 
which  begins  in  1814  and  terminates  in  1820,  with  the  acces- 
sion of  M.  de  Villele,  the  practical  man  of  the  Right.  These 


MARIUS.  43 

six  years  were  an  extraordinary  moment,  at  once  noisy  and  si- 
lent, silent  and  gloomy,  enlightened,  as  it  were,  by  a  beam  of 
dawn,  and  covered,  at  the  same  time,  by  the  darkness  of  the 
great  catastrophe  which  still  filled  the  horizon,  and  was  slowly 
sinking  into  the  past.  There  was  in  this  light  and  this  shadow 
an  old  society  and  a  new  society,  buffoon  and  melancholy,  ju- 
venile and  senile,  and  rubbing  its  eyes,  for  nothing  is  so  like  a 
re-awaking  as  a  return.  There  were  groups  that  regarded 
France  angrily  and  which  France  regarded  ironically  ;  the 
streets  full  of  honest  old  marquis-owls,  "  ci-devants,"  stupefied 
by  everything;  brave  and  noble  gentlemen  smiling  at  being  in 
France  and  also  weeping  at  it,  ravished  at  seeing  their  country 
again  and  in  despair  at  not  finding  their  monarchy  ;  the  nobil- 
ity of  the  crusades  spitting  on  the  nobility  of  the  empire,  that 
is  to  say,  of  the  sword ;  historic  races  that  had  lost  all  feeling 
of  history ;  the  sons  of  the  companions  of  Charlemagne 
disdaining  the  companions  of  Napoleon.  The  swords,  as  we 
have  said,  hurled  insults  at  one  another ;  the  sword  of  Fonte- 
noy  was  ridiculous,  and  only  a  bar  of  rusty  iron  ;  the  sword  of 
Marengo  was  odious,  and  only  a  sabre.  The  olden  times  mis- 
understood yesterday,  and  no  one  had  a  feeling  of  what  is  great 
or  what  is  ridiculous.  Some  one  was  found  to  call  Bonaparte 
Scapin.  This  world  no  longer  exists,  and  nothing  connected 
with  it,  let  us  repeat,  remains  at  the  present  day.  "When  we 
draw  out  of  it  some  figure  hap-hazard,  and  try  to  bring  it  to 
bear  again  mentally,  it  seems  to  us  as  strange  as  the  ante-deluvian 
world,  and,  in  fact,  it  was  also  swallowed  up  by  a  deluge  and 
disappeared  under  two  revolutions.  What  waves  ideas  are  ! 
how  quickly  do  they  cover  whatever  they  have  a  mission  to 
destroy  and  bury,  and  how  promptly  do  they  produce  unknown 
depths  ! 

Such  was  the  physiognomy  of  the  salon  in  those  distant  and 
candid  days  when  If.  Martainville  had  more  wit  than  Voltaire. 

These  salons  had  a  literature  and  politics  of  their  own  :  peo- 
ple in  them  believed  in  Fievee,  and  M.  Agierlaid  down  the  law 
there.  M.  Colnet,  the  publisher  and  bookseller  of  the  Quai 
Malaquais,  was  commented  on,  and  Napoleon  was  fully  the 
ogre  of  Corsica  there.  At  a  later  date  the  introduction  into 
history  of  the  Marquis  de  Buonaparte,  lieutenant-general  of  the 
armies  of  the  king,  was  a  concession  to  the  spirit  of  the  age. 

These  salons  did  not  long  remain  pure,  and  in  1818  a  few 
doctrinaires,  a  very  alarming  tinge,  began  to  culminate  in  them. 
In  matters  of  which  the  ultras  were  very  proud,  the  doctrin- 
aires were  somewhat  ashamed  ;  they  had  wit,  they  had  silence, 


44  LES   MISERABLES. 

their  political  dogma  was  properly  starched  with  hauteur,  and 
they  must  succeed.  They  carried  white  neck-cloths  and  but- 
toned coats  to  an  excessive  length,  though  it  was  useful.  The 
fault  or  misfortune  of  the  doctrinaire  party  was  in  creating  old 
youth  :  they  assumed  the  posture  of  sages,  and  dreamed  of 
grafting  a  temperate  power  upon  the  absolute  and  excessive 
principle.  They  opposed,  and  at  times  with  rare  sense,  demol- 
ishing liberalism  by  conservative  liberalism,  and  they  might  be 
heard  saying,  "  Have  mercy  on  royalism,  for  it  has  rendered 
more  than  one  service.  It  brought  back  traditions,  worship, 
religion,  and  respect.  It  is  faithful,  true,  chivalrous,  loving, 
and  devoted,  and  has  blended,  though  reluctantly,  the  secular 
grandeurs  of  the  monarchy  with  the  new  grandeurs  of  the  nation. 
It  is  wrong  in  not  understanding  the  Revolution,  the  empire, 
giory,  liberty,  young  ideas,  young  generations,  and  the  age, — 
but  do  we  not  sometimes  act  quite  as  wrongly  against  it?  The 
Revolution  of  which  we  are  the  heirs  ought  to  be  on  good 
terms  with  everything.  Attacking  the  royalists  is  the  contrary 
of  liberalism  ;  what  a  fault  and  what  blindness  !  Revolution- 
ary France  fails  in  its  respect  to  historic  France,  that  is  to  say, 
to  its  mother,  to  itself.  After  Sept.  5,  the  nobility  of  the 
monarchy  were  treated  like  the  nobility  of  the  empire  after 
July  8  ;  they  were  unjust  to  the  eagle  and  we  are  unjust  to  the 
fleur-de-lys.  There  must  be,  then,  always  something  to  pro- 
scribe !  is  it  very  useful  to  ungild  the  crown  of  Louis  XIV., 
and  scratch  off  the  escutcheon  of  Henri  IV.?  We  sneer  at 
M.  de  Vaublanc,  who  effaced  the  N's  from  the  bridge  of  Jena, 
but  he  only  did  what  we  are  doing.  Bouvines  belongs  to  us  as 
much  as  Marengo,  and  the  jleurs-de-lys  are  ours  like  the  N's. 
They  constitute  our  patrimony  ;  then  why  should  we  diminish 
it  ?  The  country  must  be  no  more  denied  in  the  past  than  in 
the  present ;  why  should  we  not  have  a  grudge  with  the  whole 
of  history  ?  why  should  we  not  love  the  whole  of  France  ?  " 

It  was  thus  that  the  doctrinaires  criticized  and  protected  the 
royalists,  who  were  dissatisfied  at  being  criticized,  and  furious 
at  being  protected. 

The  ultras  marked  the  first  epoch  of  the  Revolution,  and 
the  congregation  characterized  the  second ;  skill  succeeded  im- 
petuosity. Let  us  close  our  sketch  at  this  point. 

In  the  course  of  his  narrative,  the  author  of  this  book  found 
on  his  road  this  curious  moment  of  contemporary  history,  and 
thought  himself  bound  to  take  a  passing  glance  at  it,  and  re- 
trace some  of  the  singular  features  of  this  society,  which  is 
unknown  at  the  present  day.  But  he  has  done  so  rapidly  and 


MARIUS.  45 

without  any  bitter  or  derisive  idea,  for  affectionate  and  respect- 
ful reminiscences,  connected  with  his  mother,  attach  him  to  this 
past.  Moreover,  let  him  add,  this  little  world  has  a  grandeur 
of  its  own,  and  though  we  may  smile  at  it,  we  cannot  despise 
or  hate  it.  It  was  the  France  of  other  days. 

Marius  Pontmercy,  like  most  children,  received  some  sort 
of  education.  When  he  left  the  hands  of  Aunt  Gillenormand, 
his  grandfather  intrusted  him  to  a  worthy  professor  of  the 
finest  classical  innocence.  This  young  mind,  just  expanding, 
passed  from  a  prude  to  a  pedant.  Marius  spent  some  years  at 
college,  and  then  joined  the  law-school ;  he  was  royalist, 
fanatic,  and  austere.  He  loved  but  little  his  grandfather, 
whose  gayety  and  cynicism  ruffled  him,  and  he  was  gloomy  as 
regarded  his  father. 

In  other  respects,  he  was  an  ardent  yet  cold,  noble,  gen- 
erous, proud,  religious,  and  exalted  youth  ;  worthy  almost  to 
harshness,  and  fierce  almost  to  savageness. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  END  OF  THE  BRIGAND. 

THE  conclusion  of  Marius'  classical  studies  coincided  with 
M.  Gillenormand's  retirement  from  society ;  the  old  gentleman 
bade  farewell  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  and  Madame  de 
T.'s  drawing-room,  and  withdrew  to  his  house  in  the  Marais. 
His  servants  were,  in  addition  to  the  porter,  that  Nicolette 
who  succeeded  Magnon,  and  that  wheezing,  short-winded 
Basque,  to  whom  we  have  already  alluded. 

In  1827  Marius  attained  his  seventeenth  year ;  on  coming 
home  one  evening  he  saw  his  grandfather  holding  a  letter  in 
his  hand. 

"Marius,"  said  M.  Gillenormand,  "you  will  start  to-mor- 
row for  Vernon." 

"  What  for  ?  "  Marius  asked. 

"  To  see  your  father." 

Mariua  trembled,  for  he  had  thought  of  every  thing  except- 
ing this,  that  he  might  one  day  be  obliged  to  see  his  father. 
Nothing  could  be  more  unexpected,  more  surprising,  and,  let 
us  add,  more  disagreeable  for  him.  It  was  estrangement 
forced  into  approximation,  and  it  was  not  an  annoyance  so 
much  as  a  drudgery. 


46  LES   MISERABLES. 

Marius,  in  addition  to  his  motives  of  political  antipathy,  was 
convinced  that  his  father,  the  trooper,  as  M.  Gillenormand 
called  'him  in  his  good-tempered  days,  did  not  love  him  ;  that 
was  evident,  as  he  had  abandoned  him  thus  and  left  him  to 
others.  Not  feeling  himself  beloved,  he  did  not  love  ;  and 
he  said  to  himself  that  nothing  could  be  more  simple. 

He  was  so  stupefied  that  he  did  not  question  his  grandfather, 
but  M.  Gillenormand  continued, — 

"  It  seems  that  he  is  ill,  and  asks  for  you." 

And  after  a  silence  he  added, — 

"Start  to-morrow  morning.  I  believe  there  is  a  coach 
which  leaves  at  six  o'clock  and  gets  to  Vernon  at  nightfall. 
Go  by  it,  for  he  says  that  the  matter  presses." 

Then  he  crumpled  up  the  letter  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
Marius  could  have  started  the  same  night,  and  have  been  with 
his  father  the  next  morning ;  a  diligence  at  that  time  used  to 
run  at  night  to  Rouen,  passing  through  Vernon.  But  neither 
M.  Gillenormand  nor  Marius  dreamed  of  inquiring. 

On  the  evening  of  the  following  day  Marius  arrived  at  Ver- 
non, and  asked  the  first  passer-by  for  the  house  of  "Monsieur 
Pontraercy."  For  in  his  mind  he  was  of  the  same  opinion  as 
the  restoration,  and  did  not  recognize  either  his  father's 
barony  or  colonelcy. 

The  house  was  shown  him  ;  he  rang,  and  a  woman  holding 
a  small  hand-lamp  opened  the  door  for  him. 

"  Monsieur  Pontmercy  ?  "  Marius  asked. 

The  woman  stood  motionless. 

"  Is  this  his  house  ?  "  Marius  continued. 

The  woman  shook  her  head  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Can  I  speak  to  him  ?  " 

The  woman  made  a  negative  sign. 

"Why,  I  am  his  son,"  Marius  added;  "and  he  expects 
me." 

"  He  no  longer  expects  you,"  the  woman  said. 

Then  he  noticed  that  she  was  crying;  she  pointed  to  the 
door  of  a  parlor,  and  he  went  in. 

In  the  room,  which  was  lighted  by  a  tallow  candle  placed  on 
the  mantel-piece,  there  were  three  men,  one  standing,  one  on 
his  knees,  and  one  lying  full  length  upon  the  floor  in  his  shirt. 
The  one  on  the  floor  was  the  colonel ;  the  other  two  were  a 
physician  and  a  priest  praying. 

The  colonel  had  been  attacked  by  a  brain  fever  three  days 
before,  and  having  a  foreboding  of  evil,  he  wrote  to  M. 
Gillenormand,  asking  for  his  son.  The  illness  grew  worse,  and 


MARIUS.  47 

on  the  evening  of  Marius'  arrival  at  Vernon,  the  colonel  had 
an  attack  of  delirium.  He  leaped  out  of  bed,  in  spite  of  the 
maid-servant,  crying,  "  My  son  does  not  arrive,  I  will  go  to 
meet  him."  Then  he  left  his  bed-room,  and  fell  on  the  floor 
of  the  ante-room  ; — he  had  just  expired. 

The  physician  and  the  cure  were  sent  for,  but  both  arrived 
too  late ;  the  son  too  had  also  arrived  too  late. 

By  the  twilight  gleam  of  the  candle,  a  heavy  tear,  which 
had  fallen  from  the  colonel's  dead  eye,  could  be  noticed  on  his 
pallid  cheek.  The  eye  was  lustreless,  but  the  tear  had  not 
dried  up.  This  tear  was  his  son's  delay. 

Marius  gazed  upon  this  man  whom  he  saw  for  the  first  time 
and  the  last,  upon  this  venerable  and  manly  face,  these  open 
eyes  which  no  longer  saw,  this  white  hair,  and  the  robust 
limbs  upon  which  could  be  distinguished  here  and  there  brown 
lines,  which  were  sabre  cuts,  and  red  stars,  which  were  bullet 
holes.  He  gazed  at  the  gigantic  scar  which  imprinted  heroism 
on  this  face,  upon  which  God  had  imprinted  gentleness.  He 
thought  that  this  man  was  his  father,  and  that  this  man  was 
dead,  and  he  remained  cold. 

The  sorrow  he  felt  was  such  as  he  would  have  felt  in  the 
presence  of  any  other  man  whom  he  might  have  seen  laying 
dead  before  him. 

Mourning  and  lamentation  were  in  this  room.  The  maid- 
servant was  weeping  in  a  corner,  the  priest  was  praying,  and 
could  be  heard  sobbing,  the  physician  wiped  his  eyes,  and  the 
corpse  itself  wept. 

The  physician,  priest  and  woman  looked  at  Marius  through 
their  affliction  without  saying  a  word,  for  he  was  the  stranger. 
Marius,  who  wras  so  little  affected,  felt  ashamed  and  embarrassed 
at  his  attitude,  and  he  let  the  hat  which  he  held  in  his  hand 
fall  on  the  ground,  in  order  to  induce  a  belief  that  sorrow  de- 
prived him  of  the  strength  to  hold  it. 

At  the  same  time  he  felt  a  species  of  remorse,  and  despised 
himself  for  acting  thus.  But  was  it  his  fault?  he  had  no  cause 
to  love  his  father. 

The  colonel  left  nothing,  and  the  sale  of  the  furniture  scarce 
covered  the  funeral  expenses.  The  maid-servant  found  a  scrap 
of  paper,  which  she  handed  to  Marius.  On  it  were  the  follow- 
ing lines,  written  by  the  colonel. 

"For  my  son.  The  emperor  made  me  a  baron  on  the  field 
of  "Waterloo,  and  as  the  Restoration  contests  this  title,  which  I 
purchased  with  my  blood,  my  son  will  assume  it  and  wear  it. 
Of  course  he  will  be  worthy  of  it." 


48  LES   MISERABLES. 

On  the  back  the  colonel  had  added,  "  At  this  same  battle  of 
Waterloo  a  sergeant  saved  my  life,  his  name  is  Thenardier, 
and  I  believe  that  he  has  recently  kept  a  small  inn  in  a  village 
near  Paris,  either  Chelles  or  Montfermeil.  If  my  son  meet 
this  Thenardier  he  will  do  all  he  can  for  him." 

Not  through  any  affection  for  his  father,  but  owing  to  that 
vague  respect  for  death  which  is  ever  so  imperious  in  the  heart 
of  man,  Marius  took  this  paper  and  put  it  away. 

Nothing  was  left  of  the  colonel.  M.  Gillenormand  had  his 
sword  and  uniform  sold  to  the  Jews  ;  the  neighbors  plundered 
the  garden,  and  carried  off  the  rare  flowers,  while  the  others 
became  brambles  and  died. 

Marius  only  remained  forty-eight  hours  in  Vernon.  After 
the  funeral  he  returned  to  Paris  and  his  legal  studies,  thinking 
no  more  of  his  father  than  if  he  had  never  existed.  In  two 
days  the  colonel  was  buried,  and  in  three  forgotten. 

Marius  had  a  crape  on  his  hat,  and  that  was  all. 


CHAPTER  V. 

UTILITY  OP  GOING  TO  MASS  TO  BECOME  REVOLUTIONARY. 

MARIUS  had  retained  the  religious  habits  of  his  childhood. 
One  Sunday,  when  he  went  to  hear  mass  at  St.  Sulpice,  in  the 
same  Lady's  Chapel  to  which  his  aunt  took  him  when  a  boy, 
being  on  that  day  more  than  usually  absent  and  thoughtful,  he 
placed  himself  behind  a  pillar,  and  knelt,  without  paying  at- 
tention to  the  fact,  upon  a  Utrecht  velvet  chair,  on  the  back  of 
which  was  written,  "  Monsieur  Mabeuf,  Churchwarden."  Tlie 
mass  had  scarce  begun  when  an  old  gentleman  presented  him- 
self, and  said  to  Marius, — 

"This  is  my  place,  sir." 

Marius  at  once  stepped  aside,  and  the  old  gentleman  took  his 
seat. 

When  mass  was  ended  Marius  stood  pensively  for  a  few 
moments,  till  the  old  gentleman  came  up  to  him  and  said, — 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir,  for  having  disturbed  you  just  now, 
and  for  troubling  you  afresh  at  this  moment,  but  you  must  have 
considered  me  ill-bred,  and  so  I  wish  to  explain  the  matter  to 
you." 

"It  is  unnecessary,  sir,"  said  Marius. 

"  No,  it  is  not,"  the  old  man  continued,  "  for  I  do  not  wish 


MARIUS.  49 

you  to  have  a  bad  opinion  of  me.  I  am  attached  to  this  seat, 
and  it  seems  to  me  that  the  mass  is  better  here,  and  I  will  tell 
you  my  reason.  To  this  spot  I  saw  during  ten  years,  at  regular 
intervals  of  two  or  three  months,  a  poor  worthy  father  come, 
who  had  no  other  opportunity  or  way  of  seeing  his  son,  be- 
cause they  were  separated  through  family  arrangements.  He 
came  at  the  hour  when  he  knew  that  his  son  would  be  brought 
to  mass.  The  boy  did  not  suspect  that  his  father  was  here — 
perhaps  did  not  know,  the  innocent,  that  he  had  a  father.  The 
latter  kept  behind  a  pillar  so  that  he  might  not  be  seen,  looked 
at  his  child  and  wept ;  for  the  poor  man  adored  him,  as  I  could 
see.  This  spot  lias  become,  so  to  speak,  sanctified  for  me,  and 
I  have  fallen  into  the  habit  of  hearing  mass  here.  I  prefer  it 
to  the  bench  to  which  I  should  have  a  right  as  Churchwarden. 
I  even  knew  the  unfortunate  gentleman  slightly.  He  had  a 
father-in-law,  a  rich  aunt,  and  other  relatives,  who  threatened 
to  disinherit  the  boy  if  the  father  ever  saw  him,  and  he  sacri- 
ficed himself  that  his  son  might  one  day  be  rich  and  happy. 
They  were  separated  through  political  opinions,  and  though  I 
certainly  approve  of  such  opinions,  there  are  persons  who  do 
not  know  where  to  stop.  Good  gracious  !  because  a  man  was  at 
Waterloo  he  is  not  a  monster  ;  a  father  should  not  be  separated 
from  his  child  on  that  account.  He  was  one  of  Bonaparte's 
colonel's,  and  is  dead,  I  believe.  He  lived  at  Vernon,  where 
I  have  a  brother  who  is  a  cure,  and  his  name  was  something 
like  Pontmarie,  Montpercy — he  had,  on  my  word,  a  splendid 
sabre  cut." 

"  Pontmercy,"  Marius  said,  turning  pale. 

"  Precisely,  Pontmercy  ;  did  you  know  him?" 

"  He  was  my  father,  sir." 

The  old  churchwarden  claspefl  his  hands  and  exclaimed, — 

"  Ah  !  you  are  the  boy !  Yes,  yes,  he  would  be  a  man  now. 
Well,  poor  boy,  you  may  say  that  you  had  a  father  who  loved 
you  dearly." 

Marius  offered  his  arm  to  the  old  gentleman,  and  conducted 
him  to  his  house.  The  next  clay  he  said  to  M.  Gillenormand, — 

"  Some  friends  of  mine  have  arranged  a  shooting  party,  will 
you  allow  me  to  go  away  for  three  days  ?  " 

"  Four,"  the  grandfather  answered,  "  go  and  amuse  your- 
self ;  "  and  he  whispered  to  his  daughter  with  a  wink,  "  some 
love  affair." 


50  LES   MISERABLES. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHAT  IT  IS  TO  HAVE  MET  A  CHURCHWARDEN. 

Where  Marius  went  we  shall  learn  presently. 

He  was  away  three  days,  then  returned  to  Paris,  went  straight 
to  the  Library  of  the  Law-School,  and  asked  for  a  file  of  the 
Moniteur. 

He  read  it,  he  read  all  the  histories  of  the  republic  and  the 
empire;  the  Memorial  of  St.  Helena,  all  the  memoirs,  journals, 
bulletins,  and  proclamations — he  fairly  devoured  them.  The 
first  time  he  came  across  his  father's  name  in  a  bulletin  of  the 
grand  army  he  had  a  fever  for  a  whole  week.  He  called  upon 
the  generals  under  whom  George  Pontmercy  had  served  ; 

among  others,  Count  H The  churchwarden,  whom  he 

saw  again,  told  him  of  the  life  at  Vernon,  the  colonel's  retire- 
ment, his  flowers,  and  his  solitude.  Marius  had  at  last  a  per- 
fect knowledge  of  this  rare,  sublime,  and  gentle  man,  this 
species  of  lion-lamb — who  had  been  his  father. 

While  occupied  with  this  study,  which  filled  all  his  moments  as 
well  as  all  his  thoughts,  he  scarce  ever  saw  the  Gillenormands. 
He  appeared  at  meals,  but  when  sought  for  after  them  he  could 
not  be  found.  His  aunt  sulked,  but  old  Gillenormand  smiled. 
"  Stuff,  stuff,  it  is  the  right  age  ; "  at  times  the  old  man  would 
add,  "  Confound  it,  I  thought  that  it  was  an  affair  of  gallantry, 
but  it  seems  that  it  is  a  passion." 

It  was  a  passion  in  truth,  for  Marius  was  beginning  to  adore 
his  father. 

At  the  same  time  an  extraordinary  change  took  place  in  his 
ideas,  and  the  phases  of  this  change  were  numerous  and  suc- 
cessive. As  this  is  the  history  of  many  minds  in  our  day,  we 
deem  it  useful  to  follow  these  phases  step  by  step,  and  indicate 
them  all. 

The  history  he  had  just  read  startled  him,  and  the  first  effect 
was  bedazzleraent. 

The  republic,  the  empire,  had  hitherto  been  to  him  but  mon- 
strous words, — the  republic  a  guillotine  in  the  twilight ;  the 
empire  a  sabre  in  the  night.  He  had  looked  into  it,  and  where 
he  had  only  expected  to  find  a  chaos  of  darkness  he  had  seen, 
with  a  species  of  extraordinary  surprise,  mingled  with  fear  and 


MARIUS.  5 1 

delight,  stars,  flashing, — Mirabeau,  Vergniaud,  Saint  Just, 
Robespierre,  Camille  Desmoulins,  and  Danton, — and  a  sun 
rise,  Napoleon.  He  knew  not  where  he  was,  and  he  recoiled, 
blinded  by  the  brilliancy.  Gradually,  when  the  first  surprise 
had  worn  off,  he  accustomed  himself  to  this  radiance.  He  re- 
garded the  deed  without  dizziness,  and  examined  persons  with- 
out terror  ;  the  Revolution  and  the  empire  stood  out  in  lumin- 
ous perspective  before  his  visionary  eyeballs  ;  he  saw  each  of 
these  two  groups  of  events  and  facts  contained  in  two  enor- 
mous facts  ;  the  Revolution  in  the  sovereignty  of  civic  right  re- 
stored to  the  masses,  the  empire  in  the  sovereignty  of  the 
French  idea  imposed  on  Europe  ;  he  saw  the  great  figure  of 
the  people  emerge  from  the  Revolution,  the  great  figure  of 
France  from  the  empire,  and  he  declared  to  himself  on  his 
conscience  that  all  this  was  good. 

What  his  bedazzlement  neglected  in  this  first  appreciation, 
which  was  far  too  synthetical,  we  do  not  think  it  necessary  to 
indicate  here.  We  are  describing  the  state  of  a  mind  advanc- 
ing, and  all  progress  is  not  made  in  one  march.  This  said, 
once  for  all,  as  to  what  precedes  and  what  is  to  follow,  we  will 
continue. 

He  then  perceived,  that  up  to  this  moment  he  had  no  more 
understood  his  country  than  he  did  his  father.  He  had  known 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  and  he  had  spread  a  species  of 
voluntary  night  over  his  eyes.  He  now  saw,  and  on  one  side 
he  admired,  on  the  other  he  adored. 

He  was  full  of  regret  and  remorse,  and  he  thought  with  de- 
spair that  he  could  only  tell  to  a  tomb  all  that  he  had  in  his 
mind.  Oh,  if  his  father  were  alive,  if  he  had  him  still,  if  God 
in  His  compassion  and  His  goodness  had  allowed  this  father  to 
be  still  alive,  how  he  would  have  flown,  how  he  would  have 
cried  to  his  father, — "  Father,  here  I  am,  it  is  I !  I  have 
the  same  heart  as  you  !  I  am  your  son  ! "  How  he  would 
have  kissed  his  white  head,  bathed  his  hair  with  his  tears, 
gazed  at  his  scar,  pressed  his  hand,  adored  his  clothes,  and 
embraced  his  feet  !  Oh,  why  did  this  father  die  so  soon,  be- 
fore justice  had  been  done  him,  before  he  had  known  his 
son's  love?  Marius  had  a  constant  sob  in  his  heart,  which 
said  at  every  moment,  "  Alas !  "  At  the  same  time  he  be- 
came more  truly  serious,  more  truly  grave,  more  sure  of  his 
faith  and  his  thoughts.  At  each  instant  beams  of  light  ar- 
rived to  complete  his  reason,  and  a  species  of  internal  growth 
went  on  within  him.  He  felt  a  natural  aggrandizement  pro- 


52  LES   MISERABLES. 

duced  by  the  two  things  so  new  to  him — his  father  and  his 
country. 

As  a  door  can  be  easily  opened  when  we  hold  the  key,  he  ex- 
plained to  himself  what  he  had  hated,  and  understood  what 
he  had  abhorred.  Henceforth  he  saw  clearly  the  providen- 
tial, divine,  and  human  meaning,  the  great  things  which  he  had 
been  taught  to  detest,  and  the  great  men  whom  he  had  been 
instructed  to  curse.  When  he  thought  of  his  previous  opinions, 
which  were  but  of  yesterday,  and  which  yet  seemed  to  him  so 
old,  he  felt  indignant  and  smiled.  From  the  rehabilitation  of 
his  father  he  had  naturally  passed  to  that  of  Napoleon,  but 
the  latter,  we  must  say,  was  not  effected  without  labor. 

From  childhood  he  had  been  imbued  with  the  judgments  of 
the  party  of  1814  about  Bonaparte  ;  now  all  the  prejudices  of 
the  Restoration,  all  its  interests,  and  all  its  instincts,  tended  to 
disfigure  Napoleon,  and  it  execrated  him,  even  more  that 
Robespierre.  It  had  worked  rather  cleverly  upon  the  wear- 
iness of  the  nation,  and  the  hatred  of  mothers.  Bonaparte 
had  become  a  species  of  almost  fabulous  monster,  and  in  order 
to  depict  him  to  the  imagination  of  the  people,  which,  as  we 
said  just  now,  resembles  that  of  children,  the  party  of  1814 
brought  forward  in  turn  all  the  frightful  masques,  from  that 
which  is  terrible  while  remaining  grand,  down  to  that  which 
is  terrible  while  becoming  grotesque,  from  Tiberius  down  to 
old  Boguey.  Hence,  in  speaking  of  Bonaparte,  people  were 
at  liberty  to  sob  or  burst  with  laughter,  provided  that  hatred 
sung  the  bass.  Marius  had  never  had  on  the  subject  of — 
that  man,  as  he  was  called — any  other  ideas  but  these  in  his 
mind,  and  they  were  combined  with  his  natural  tenacity. 
He  was  a  headstrong  little  man,  who  hated  Napoleon. 

On  reading  history,  on  studying  before  all  documents  and 
materials,  the  veil  which  hid  Napoleon  from  Marius'  sight  was 
gradually  rent  asunder,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  im- 
mense, and  suspected  that  up  to  this  moment  he  had  been  mis- 
taken about  Bonaparte,  as  about  all  the  rest ;  each  day  he  saw 
more  clearly,  and  he  began  climbing  slowly,  step  by  step,  at 
the  beginning  almost  reluctantly,  but  then  with  intoxication, 
and  as  if  attracted  by  an  irresistible  fascination,  first,  the 
gloomy  steps,  then  the  dimly-lighted  steps,  and  at  last  the  lum- 
inous and  splendid  steps  of  enthusiasm. 

One  night  he  was  alone  in  his  little  garret,  his  candle  was 
lighted,  and  he  was  reading  at  a  table  by  the  open  window. 
All  sorts  of  reveries  reached  him  from  the  space,  and  were 
mingled  with  his  thoughts.  What  a  spectacle  is  night!  we 


MARIUS.  53 

hear  dull  sounds  and  know  not  whence  they  come ;  we  see 
Jupiter,  which  is  twelve  hundred  times  larger  than  the  earth, 
glowing  like  a  fire-ball ;  the  blue  is  black,  the  stars  sparkle, 
and  the  whole  forms  a  formidable  sight. 

He  was  reading  the  bulletins  of  the  grand  army,  those  Ho- 
meric strophes  written  on  the  battle-field ;  he  saw  in  them  at 
intervals  the  image  of  his  father,  and  ever  that  of  the  emperor; 
the  whole  of  the  great  empire  was  before  him  ;  he  felt,  as  it 
were,  a  tide  within  him  swelling  and  mounting ;  it  seemed  at 
moments  as  if  his  father  passed  close  to  him  like  a  breath, 
and  whispered  in  his  ear ;  he  gradually  became  strange,  he 
fancied  he  could  hear  drums,  cannon,  and  bugles,  the  measured 
tread  of  the  battalions,  and  the  hollow  distant  galop  of  the 
cavalry ;  from  time  to  time  his  eyes  were  raised  and  surveyed 
the  colossal  constellations  flashing  in  the  profundities,  and  then 
they  fell  again  upon  the  book,  and  he  saw  in  that  other  colossal 
things  stirring  confusedly.  His  heart  was  contracted,  he  was 
transported,  trembling  and  gasping ;  and  all  alone,  without 
knowing  what  was  within  him  or  what  he  obeyed,  he  rose, 
stretched  his  arms  out  of  the  window,  looked  fixedly  at  the 
shadow,  the  silence,  the  dart  infinitude,  the  eternal  immensity, 
and  shouted,  "  Long  live  the  emperor!  " 

From  this  moment  it  was  all  over.  The  ogre  of  Corsica, 
the  usurper,  the  tyrant,  the  monster,  who  was  the  lover  of  his 
own  sisters,  the  actor  who  took  lessons  of  Talma,  the  prisoner 
of  Jaffa,  the  tiger,  Bonaparte, — all  this  faded  away,  and  made 
room  in  his  mind  for  a  radiance  in  which  the  pale  marble 
phantom  of  Caesar  stood  out  serenely  at  an  inaccessible  height. 
The  emperor  had  never  been  to  his  father  more  than  the  be- 
loved captain,  whom  a  man  admires  and  for  whom  he  devotes 
himself,  but  to  Marius  he  was  far  more.  He  was  the  predes- 
tined constructor  of  the  French  group  which  succeeded  the 
Roman  group  in  the  dominion  of  the  universe,  he  was  the  pro- 
digious architect  of  an  earthquake,  the  successor  of  Charle- 
magne, Louis  XL,  Henri  IV.,  Richelieu,  Louis  XIV.,  and  the 
committee  of  public  safety;  he  had  doubtless  his  spots,  his 
faults,  and  even  his  crimes,  that  is  to  say,  he  was  a  man,  but 
he  was  august  in  his  faults,  brilliant  in  his  spots,  and  powerful 
in  his  crime. 

He  was  the  predestined  man  who  compelled  all  nations  to 
say, — The  great  nation.  He  was  even  more,  he  was  the  very 
incarnation  of  France,  conquering  Europe  by  the  sword  he 
held,  and  the  world  by  the  lustre  which  he  emitted.  Marius 
saw  in  Bonaparte  the  dazzling  spectre  which  will  ever  stand  on 


54  LES   MISERABLES. 

the  frontier  and  guard  the  future.  He  was  a  despot,  but  a 
dictator, — a  despot  resulting  from  a  republic,  and  completing  a 
revolution.  Napoleon  became  for  him  the  man-people,  as  the 
Saviour  is  the  man-God. 

As  we  see,  after  the  fashion  of  all  new  converts  to  a  religion 
his  conversion  intoxicated  him  and  he  dashed  into  faith  and 
went  too  far.  His  nature  was  so ;  once  upon  an  incline,  it  was 
impossible  to  check  himself.  Fanaticism  for  the  sword  seized 
upon  him,  and  complicated  in  his  mind  the  enthusiasm  for  the 
idea  ;  he  did  not  perceive  that  he  admired  force  as  well  as 
genius,  that  is  to  say,  filled  up  the  two  shrines  of  his  idolatry, 
on  one  side  that  which  is  divine,  on  the  other  that  which  is 
brutal.  He  also  deceived  himself  on  several  other  points, 
though  in  a  different  way ;  he  admitted  everything.  There  is 
a  way  of  encountering  error  by  going  to  meet  the  truth,  and 
by  a  sort  of  violent  good  faith,  which  accepts  every  thing  un- 
conditionally. Upon  the  new  path  he  had  entered,  while  judg- 
ing the  wrongs  of  the  ancient  regime  and  measuring  the  glory 
of  Napoleon,  he  neglected  attenuating  circumstances. 

However  this  might  be,  a  prodigious  step  was  made ;  where 
he  had  once  seen  the  downfall  of  monarchy  he  now  saw  the 
accession  of  France.  The  points  of  his  moral  compass  were 
changed,  and  what  had  once  been  sunset  was  now  sunrise ;  and 
all  these  revolutions  took  place  in  turns,  without  his  family 
suspecting  it. 

When,  in  this  mysterious  labor,  he  had  entirely  lost  his  old 
Bourbonic  and  ultra  skin,  when  he  had  pulled  off  the  aristocrat, 
the  Jacobite,  and  the  royalist,  when  he  was  a  perfect  revolu- 
tionist, profoundly  democratic,  and  almost  republican,  he  went 
to  an  engraver's  and  ordered  one  hundred  cards,  with  the  ad- 
dress "  Baron  Marius  Pontmercy." 

This  was  but  the  logical  consequence  of  the  change  which 
had  taken  place  in  him,  a  change  in  which  every  thing  grav- 
itated round  his  father. 

Still,  as  he  knew  nobody  and  could  not  show  his  cards  at 
any  porter's  lodge,  he  put  them  in  his  pocket. 

By  another  natural  consequence,  in  proportion  as  he  drew 
nearer  to  his  father,  his  memory,  and  the  things  for  which  the 
colonel  had  fought  during  five-and-twenty  years,  he  drew  away 
from  his  grandfather.  As  we  said,  M.  Gillenormand's  humor 
had  not  suited  him  for  a  long  time  past,  and  there  already  ex- 
isted between  them  all  the  dissonances  produced  by  the  contact 
of  a  grave  young  man  with  a  frivolous  old  man.  The  gayety 
of  Geronte  offends  and  exasperates  the  melancholy  of  Werther. 


MARIUS.  55 

So  long  as  the  same  political  opinions  and  ideas  had  been  com- 
mon to  them,  Marius  met  his  grandfather  upon  them  as  on  a 
bridge,  but  when  the  bridge  fell  there  was  a  great  gulf  between 
them  ;  and  then,  before  all  else,  Marius  had  indescribable  at- 
tacks of  revolt  when  he  reflected  that  it  was  M.  Gillenormand 
who,  through  stupid  motives,  pitilessly  tore  him  from  the  col- 
onel, thus  depriving  father  of  son  and  son  of  father. 

Through  his  reverence  for  his  father,  Marius  had  almost 
grown  into  an  aversion  from  his  grandfather. 

Nothing  of  this,  however,  was  revealed  in  his  demeanor;  he 
merely  became  colder  than  before,  laconic  at  meals,  and  rarely 
at  home.  When  his  auilt  scolded  him  for  it  he  was  very 
gentle,  and  alleged  as  excuse  his  studies,  examinations,  confer- 
ences, etc.  The  grandfather,  however,  still  adhered  to  his  in- 
fallible diagnostic, — "He  is  in  love,  I  know  the  symptoms." 

Marius  was  absent  every  now  and  then. 

"  Where  can  he  go?  "  the  aunt  asked. 

In  one  of  his  trips,  which  were  always  very  short,  he  went 
to  Montfermeil  in  order  to  obey  his  father's  intimation,  and 
sought  for  the  ex-sergeant  of  Waterloo,  Thenardier,  the  land- 
lord. Thenardier  had  failed,  the  public  house  was  shut  up, 
and  no  one  knew  what  had  become  of  him.  In  making  this 
search  Marius  remained  away  for  four  days. 

"  He  is  decidedly  getting  out  of  order,"  said  the  grand- 
father. 

They  also  fancied  they  could  notice  that  he  wore  under  his 
shirt  something  fastened  round  his  neck  by  a  black  ribbon. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SOME    PETTICOAT. 

WE  have  alluded  to  a  lancer :  he  was  a  great-grand-nephew 
of  M.  Gillenormand's,  on  the  father's  side,  who  led  a  garrison 
life,  far  away  from  the  domestic  hearth.  Lieutenant  Theodule 
Gillenormand  fulfilled  all  the  conditions  required  for  a  man  to 
be  a  pretty  officer:  he  had  a  young  lady's  waist,  a  victorious 
way  of  clanking  his  sabre,  and  turned-up  mustaches.  He  came 
very  rarely  to  Paris,  so  rarely  that  Marius  had  never  seen 
him,  and  the  two  cousins  only  knew  each  other  by  name. 
Theodule  was,  we  think  we  said,  the  favorite  of  Aunt  Gillenor- 
mand, who  preferred  him  because  she  never  saw  him  ;  for  not 


56  LES   MISERABLES. 

seeing  people  allows  of  every  possible  perfection  being  attrib- 
uted to  them. 

One  morning  Mile  Gillenormand  the  elder  returned  to  her 
apartments,  as  much  affected  as  her  general  placidity  would 
allow.  Marius  had  again  asked  his  grandfather's  permission 
to  make  a  short  trip,  adding  that  he  wished  to  start  that  same 
evening.  "  Go,"  the  grandfather  answered  ;  and  he  added  to 
himself,  as  he  pursed  up  his  eye,  "  Another  relapse  of  sleep- 
ing from  home."  Mile  Gillenormand  went  up  to  her  room 
greatly  puzzled,  and  cast  to  the  staircase  this  exclamatio'n,  "It's 
too  much! "  and  this  question,  "  But  where  is  it  that  he  goes  ?  " 
She  caught  a  glimpse  of  some  more  or  less  illicit  love  adventure, 
of  a  woman  in  the  shadow,  a  meeting,  a  mystery,  and  would 
not  have  felt  vexed  to  have  a  closer  peep  at  it  through  her 
spectacles.  Scenting  a  mystery  is  like  the  first  bite  at  a  piece 
of  scandal,  and  holy  souls  do  not  detest  it.  In  the  secret  com- 
partments of  bigotry  there  is  some  curiosity  for  scandal. 

She  was,  therefore,  suffering  from  a  vague  appetite  to  learn 
a  story. 

In  order  to  distract  this  curiosity,  which  agitated  her  a  little 
beyond  her  wont,  she  took  refuge  in  her  talents,  and  began 
festooning  with  cotton  upon  cotton  one  of  those  embroideries 
of  the  empire  and  the  Restoration,  in  which  there  are  a  great 
many  cabriolet  wheels.  It  was  a  clumsy  job,  and  the  work- 
woman was  awkward.  She  had  been  sitting  over  it  for  some 
hours  when  the  door  opened.  Mile  Gillenormand  raised  her 
nose,  and  saw  Lieutenant  Theodule  before  her,  making  his 
regulation  salute.  She  uttered  a  cry  of  delight ;  for  a  woman 
may  be  old,  a  prude,  devout,  and  an  aunt,  but  she  is  always 
glad  to  see  a  lancer  enter  her  room. 

"  You  here,  Theodule  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  In  passing,  my  dear  aunt." 

"  Well,  kiss  me." 

"  There,"  said  Theodule,  as  he  kissed  her.  Aunt  Gillenor- 
mand walked  to  her  secretaire  and  opened  it. 

"  You  will  stop  the  week  out?  " 

"  My  dear  aunt,  I  am  off  again  to-night." 

"  Impossible ! " 

"  Mathematically." 

"  Stay,  my  little  Theodule,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  The  heart  says  Yes,  but  duty  says  No.  The  story  is  very 
simple  ;  we  are  changing  garrison  ;  we  were  at  Melun,  and  are 
pent  to  Gaillon.  In  order  to  go  to  the  new  garrison  we  were 


MARIUS.  57 

obliged  to  pass  through  Paris,  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  will  go 
and  see  my  aunt.'  " 

"  And  here's  for  your  trouble." 

And  she  slipped  ten  louis  into  his  hand. 

"  You  mean  to  say  for  my  pleasure,  dear  aunt." 

Theodule  kissed  her  a  second  time,  and  she  had  the  pleasure 
of  having  her  neck  slightly  grazed  by  his  gold-laced  collar. 

"Are  you  traveling  on  horseback,  with  your  regiment?" 

"  No,  my  aunt ;  I  have  come  to  see  you  by  special  permis- 
sion. My  servant  is  leading  my  horse,  and  I  shall  travel  by 
the  diligence.  By  the  way,  there  is  one  thing  I  want  to  ask 
you." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  It  appears  that  my  cousin  Marius  Pontmercy  is  going  on  a 
journey  too  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  the  aunt  said,  her  curiosity  be- 
ing greatly  tickled. 

"  On  reaching  Paris  I  went  to  the  coach-office  to  take  my 
place  in  the  coupe" 

«  Well  ?  " 

"  A  traveler  had  already  taken  a  seat  in  the  Imperiale,  and 
I  saw  his  name  in  the  way-bill :  it  was  Marius  Pontmercy." 

"  Oh,  the  scamp,"  the  aunt  exclaimed.  "  Ah  !  your  cousin 
is  not  a  steady  lad  like  you.  To  think  that  he  is  going  to  pass 
the  night  in  a  diligence  !  " 

"  Like  myself." 

"  You  do  it  through  duty,  but  he  does  it  through  disorder." 

"  The  deuce  !  "  said  Theodule. 

Here  an  event  occurred  to  Mademoiselle  Gillenormand  the 
elder :  she  had  an  idea.  If  she  had  been  a  man  she  would  have 
struck  her  forehead.  She  addressed  Theodule. 

"  You  are  aware  that  your  cousin  does  not  know  you  ?  " 

"I  have  seen  him,  but  he  never  deigned  to  notice  me." 

''  Where  is  the  diligence  going  to?" 

"  To  Andelys." 

"  Is  Marius  going  there  ?  " 

"  Unless  he  stops  on  the  road,  like  myself.  I  get  out  at 
Vernon,  to  take  the  Gaillon  coach.  I  know  nothing  about 
Marius'  route." 

"  Marius !  what  an  odious  name!  what  an  idea  it  was  to  call 
him  that !  well,  your  name,  at  least,  is  Theodule." 

"  I  would  rather  it  was  Alfred,"  the  officer  said. 

"Listen,  Theodule;  Marius  absents  himself  from  the 
house*" 


58  LES   MISERABLES. 

<Eh,  eh!" 

'  He  goes  about  the  country." 

'  Ah,  ah  !  " 

'  He  sleeps  out." 

'Oh,  oh!" 

'  We  should  like  to  know  the  meaning  of  all  this." 

Theodule  replied,  with  the  calmness  of  a  bronze  man,  "  Some 
petticoat !  " 

And  with  that  inward  chuckle  which  evidences  a  certainty, 
he  added,  "  Some  gurl !  " 

"That  is  evident  !"  the  aunt  exclaimed,  who  believed  that 
she  heard  M.  Gillenorniand  speaking,  and  who  felt  his  convic- 
tion issue  irresistibly  from  that  word  "gurl,"  accentuated  al- 
most in  the  same  way  bj  grand-uncle  and  grand-nephew.  She 
continued, — 

"  Do  us  a  pleasure  by  following  Marius  a  little.  As  he  does 
not  know  you,  that  will  be  an  easy  matter.  Since  there  is  a  girl 
in  the  case,  try  to  get  a  look  at  her,  and  write  and  tell  us  about 
it,  for  it  will  amuse  your  grandfather." 

Theodule  had  no  excessive  inclination  for  this  sort  of  watch- 
ing, but  he  was  greatly  affected  by  the  ten  louis,  and  he  be- 
lieved he  could  see  a  possible  continuation  of  such  gifts.  He 
accepted  the  commission,  and  said,  "  As  you  please,  aunt,"  and 
added  in  an  aside,  "  I  am  a  Duenna  now  !  " 

Mile  Gillenormand  kissed  him. 

"  You  would  not  play  such  tricks  as  that,  Theodule,  for  you 
obey  discipline,  are  the  slave  of  duty,  and  a  scrupulous  man, 
and  would  never  leave  your  family  to  go  and  see  a  creature." 

The  lancer  made  the  satisfied  grimace  of  Cartouche  when 
praised  for  his  probity. 

Marius,  on  the  evening  that  followed  this  dialogue,  got  into 
the  diligence,  not  suspecting  tliat  he  was  watched.  As  for  the 
watcher,  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  fall  asleep,  and  his  sleep 
was  complete  and  conscientious.  Argus  snored  the  whole 
night. 

At  day-break  the  guard  shouted,  "  Vernon  ;  passengers  for 
Vernon,  get  out  here !  "  and  Lieutenant  Theodule  got  out. 

"  All  right,"  he  growled,  still  half  asleep,  "I  get  out  here." 

Then  his  memory  growing  gradually  clearer,  he  thought  of 
his  aunt,  the  ten  louis,  and  the  account  he  had  promised  to 
render  of  Marius'  sayings  and  doings.  This  made  him  laugh. 

"  He  is  probably  no  longer  in  the  coach,"  he  thought,  while 
buttoning  up  his  jacket.  "  He  may  have  stopped  at  Poissy,  he 
may  have  stopped  at  Triel,  if  he  did  not  get  out  at  Meulan,  he 


MARIUS.  59 

may  have  done  so  at  Mantes,  unless  he  stopped  at  Rolleboise, 
or  only  went  as  far  as  Passy,  with  the  choice  of  turning  on  his 
left  to  Estreux,  or  on  his  right  to  La  Rocheguyon.  Run  after 
him,  aunty.  What  the  deuce  shall  I  write  to  the  old  lady  ?  " 

At  this  moment  the  leg  of  a  black  trouser  appeared  against 
the  window-pane  of  the  coupe, 

"  Can  it  be  Marius  ?  "  the  lieutenant  said. 

It  was  Marius. 

A  little  peasant  girl  was  offering  flowers  to  the  passengers, 
and  crying,  "  Bouquets  for  your  ladies." 

Marius  went  up  to  her,  and  bought  the  finest  flowers  in 
her  basket. 

"By  Jove,"  said  Theodule,  as  he  leaped  out  of  the  coupe, 
"  the  affair  is  growing  piquant.  Who  the  deuce  is  he  going  to 
carry  those  flowers  to  ?  she  must  be  a  deucedly  pretty  woman 
to  deserve  so  handsome  a  bouquet.  I  must  have  a  look  at 
her." 

And  then  he  began  following 'Marius,  no  longer  by  order, 
but  through  personal  curiosity,  like  those  dogs  which  hunt  on 
their  own  account. 

Marius  paid  no  attention  to  Theodule.  Some  elegant  wo- 
men were  getting  out  of  the  diligence,  but  he  did  not  look  at 
them  ;  he  seemed  to  see  nothing  around  him. 

"He  must  be  preciously  in  love,"  Theodule  thought. 

Marius  proceeded  toward  the  church. 

"  That's  glorious  !  "  Theodule  said  to  himself,  "  the  church, 
that's  the  thing.  Rendezvous  spiced  with  a  small  amount  of 
mass  are  the  best.  Nothing  is  so  exquisite  as  an  ogle  ex- 
changed in  the  presence  of  the  Virgin." 

On  reaching  the  church,  Marius  did  not  go  in,  but  disap- 
peared behind  one  of  the  buttresses  of  the  apse. 

"  The  meeting  outside,"  Theodule  said  ;  "  now  for  a  look  at 
the  gurl." 

And  he  walked  on  tiptoe  up  to  the  corner  which  Marius  had 
gone  round,  and  on  reaching  it  stopped  in  stupefaction. 

Marius,  with  his  forehead  in  both  his  hands,  was  kneeling  in 
the  grass  upon  a  tomb,  and  had  spread  his  flowers  out  over  it. 
At  the  head  of  the  grave  was  a  cross  of  black  wood,  with  this 
name  in  white  letters, — "  COLONEL  BARON  PONTMERCT." 
Marius  could  be  heard  sobbing. 

The  girl  was  a  tomb. 


60  LES   MISERABLES. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

MARBLE  AGAINST  GRANITE. 

IT  is  hither  that  Marius  had  come  the  first  time  that  he  ab- 
sented himself  from  Paris ;  it  was  to  this  spot  he  retired  each 
time  that  M.  Gillenormand  said, — "  He  sleeps  out." 

Lieutenant  Theodule  was  absolutely  discountenanced  by  this 
unexpected  elbowing  of  a  tomb,  and  felt  a  disagreeable  and 
singular  sensation,  which  he  was  incapable  of  analyzing,  and 
which  was  composed  of  respect  for  a  tomb,  mingled  with  re- 
spect for  a  colonel.  He  fell  back,  leaving  Marius  alone  in  the 
cemetery,  and  there  was  discipline  in  this  retreat ;  death  ap- 
peared to  him  wearing  heavy  epaulettes,  and  he  almost  gave  it 
the  military  salute.  Not  knowing  what  to  write  to  his  aunt, 
he  resolved  not  to  write  at  all ;  and  there  would  probably  have 
been  no  result  from  Theodule's  discovery  of  Marius'  amour  had 
not,  by  one  of  those  mysterious  arrangements  so  frequent  in  acci- 
dent, the  scene  at  Vernon  had  almost  immediately  a  sort  of 
counterpart  in  Paris. 

Marius  returned  from  Vernon  very  early  on  the  morning  of 
the  third  day,  and  wearied  by  two  nights  spent  in  a  diligence, 
and  feeling  the  necessity  of  repairing  his  want  of  sleep  by 
an  hour  at  the  swimming-school,  he  hurried  up  to  his  room, 
.only  took  the  time  to  take  off  his  traveling  coat  and  the  black 
ribbon  which  he  had  round  his  neck,  and  went  to  the  bath. 

M.  Gillenormand,  who  rose  at  an  early  hour  like  all  old 
men  who  are  in  good  health,  heard  him  come  in,  and  hastened 
as  quick  as  his  old  legs  would  carry  him  up  the  stairs  leading 
to  Marius'  garret,  in  order  to  welcome  him  back,  and  try  and 
discover  his  movements. 

But  the  young  man  had  taken  less  time  in  descending  than 
the  octogenarian  in  ascending,  and  when  Father  Gillenormand 
entered  the  garret  Marius  was  no  longer  there. 

The  bed  had  been  unoccupied,  and  on  it  lay  the  coat  and 
black  ribbon  unsuspectingly. 

'"I  prefer  that,"  said  M.  Gillenormand,  and  a  moment  later  he 
entered  the  drawing-room,  where  Mile  Gillenormand  the  elder 
was  already  seated  embroidering  her  cabriolet  wheels. 

The  entrance  was  triumphant,  M.  Gillenormand  held  in  one 
hand  the  coat,  in  the  other  the  neck-ribbon,  and  shouted, — 


MARIUS.  6l 

"Victory!  we  are  going  to  penetrate  the  mystery,  we  are 
going  to  know  the  cream  of  the  joke,  we  are  going  to  lay  our 
hands  on  the  libertinage  of  our  cunning  gentleman.  Here  is 
the  romance  itself,  for  I  have  the  portrait." 

In  fact,  a  box  of  shagreen  leather,  much  like  a  minature,  was 
suspended  from  the  ribbon. 

The  old  man  took  hold  of  this  box,  and  looked  at  it  for  some 
time  without  opening,  with  the  air  of  pleasure,  eagerness,  and 
anger  of  a  poor  starving  fellow,  who  sees  a  splendid  dinner,  of 
which  he  will  have  no  share,  carried  past  under  his  nose. 

"  It  is  evidently  a  portrait,  and  I  am  up  to  that  sort  of  thing. 
It  is  worn  tenderly  on  the  heart, — what  asses  they  are  !  some 
abominable  gorgon,  who  will  probably  make  me  shudder,  for 
young  men  have  such  bad  tastes,  nowadays." 

"  Let  us  look,  father,"  the  old  maid  said. 

The  box  opened  by  pressing  a  spring,  but  they  only  found  in 
it  a  carefully  folded-up  paper. 

"  From  the  same  to  the  same"  said  M.  Gillenormand,  burst- 
ing into  a  laugh.  "  I  know  what  it  is,  a  billet-doux  !  " 

"  Indeed  !  let  us  read  it,"  said  the  aunt :  and  she  put  on  her 
spectacles. 

They  unfolded  the  paper  and  read  as  follows, — 

"  For  my  son.  The  emperor  made  me  a  baron  on  the  field  of  Wa- 
terloo, and  as  the  Eestoratiou  contests  this  title  which  I  purchased 
with  my  blood,  my  son  will  assume  it  and  wear  it:  of  course  he  will 
be  worthy  of  it." 

"What  the  father  and  daughter  felt,  it  is  not  possible  to  de- 
scribe ;  but  they  were  chilled  as  if  by  the  breath  of  a  death's 
head.  They  did  not  exchange  a  syllable.  M.  Gillenormand 
merely  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  as  if  speaking  to  himself,  "  It 
is  that  trooper's  handwriting." 

The  aunt  examined  the  slip  of  paper,  turned  it  about  in  all 
directions,  and  then  placed  it  again  in  the  box. 

At  the  same  instant,  a  small  square  packet,  wrapped  up 
in  blue  paper,  fell  from  a  pocket  of  the  great-coat.  Mile  Gill- 
ornormand  picked  it  up  and  opened  the  blue  paper.  It  con- 
tained Marius'  one  hundred  cards,  and  she  passed  one  to  M. 
Gillenormand,  wlio  read,  "  Baron  Marius  Pontinercy." 

The  old  man  rang,  and  Kicolette  came  in.  M.  Gillenor- 
mand took  the  ribbon,  the  box,  and  the  coat,  threw  them  on 
the  ground  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  said, — 

"  Remove  that  rubbish." 

A  long  hour  passed  in  the  deepest  silence  ;  the  old  man  and 
the  old  maid  were  sitting  back  to  back  and  thinking,  probably 


62  LES   MISERABLES. 

both  of  the  same  things.  At  the  end  of  this  hour,  Mile  Gille- 
normand  said, — "  Very  pretty  !  " 

A  few  minutes  after,  Marius  came  in  ;  even  before  he  crossed 
the  threshhold  he  perceived  his  grandfather  holding  one  of  his 
cards  in  his  hand.  On  seeing  Marius  he  exclaimed,  with  his 
air  of  bourgeois  and  grimacing  superiority,  which  had  some- 
thing crushing  about  it, — 

"  Stay  !  stay  !  stay !  stay  !  stay  !  You  are  a  baron  at  pres- 
ent ;  I  must  congratulate  you.  What  does  this  mean  ?  " 

Marius  blushed  slightly,  and  answered, — 

"  It  means  thas  I  am  my  father's  son." 

M.  Gillenormand  left  off  laughing,  and  said  harshly, — "  I  am 
your  father." 

"  My  father,"  Marius  continued  with  downcast  eyes  and  a 
stern  air,  "  was  an  humble  and  heroic  man  who  gloriously 
served  the  republic  of  France,  who  was  great  in  the  great- 
est history  which  men  have  ever  made,  who  lived  for  a  quar- 
ter of  acentury  in  a  bivouac,  by  day  under  a  shower  of  grape- 
shot  and  bullets,  and  at  night  in  snow,  mud,  wind,  and  rain. 
He  was  a  man  who  took  two  flags,  received  twenty  wounds, 
died  in  forgetfulness  and  abandonment,  and  who  had  never  com- 
mitted but  one  fault,  that  of  loving  too  dearly  two  ungrateful 
beings — his  country  and  myself." 

This  was  more  than  M.  Gillenormand  could  hear  ;  at  the 
word  republic  he  had  risen,  or,  more  correctly,  sprung  up. 
Each  of  the  words  that  Marius  had  just  uttered  had  produced 
on  the  old  gentleman's  face  the  same  effect  as  the  blast  of  a 
forge-bellows  upon  a  burning  log.  From  gloomy  he  became  red, 
from  red,  purple,  and  from  purple,  flaming. 

"  Marius,"  he  shouted,  "•  you  abominable  boy !  I  know  not 
who  your  father  was,  and  do  not  wish  to  know.  I  know 
nothing  about  it,  but  what  I  do  know  is,  that  there  never  were  any 
but  scoundrels  among  all  those  people  ;  they  were  all  rogues, 
assassins,  red-caps,  robbers  !  I  say  all,  I  say  all !  I  know  no- 
body !  I  saw  all ;  do  you  understand  me,  Marius  ?  You  must 
know  that  you  are  as  much  a  baron  as  my  slipper  is !  They 
were  all  bandits  who  served  Robespierre  !  they  were  all  brigands 
who  served  B-u-o-naparte  !  all  traitors  who  betrayed,  betrayed, 
betrayed  their  legitimate  king  !  all  cowards  who  ran  away  from 
the  Prussians  and  the  English  at  Waterloo.  That  is  what  I 
know.  If  your  father  was  among  them,  I  am  ignorant  of  the 
fact,  and  am  sorry  for  it.  I  am  your  humble  servant !  " 

In  his  turn,  Marius  became  the  brand,  and  M.  Gillenormand 
the  bellows.  Marius  trembled  all  over,  he  knew  not  what  to 


MARIUS.  63 

do,  and  his  head  was  a-glow.  He  was  the  priest  who  sees  his 
consecrated  wafers  cast  to  the  wind,  the  Fakir  who  notices  a  pas- 
ser-by spit  on  his  idol.  It  was  impossible  that  such  things  could 
be  said  with  impunity  in  his  presence,  but  what  was  he  to  do  ?  His 
father  had  just  been  trampled  under  foot,  and  insulted  in  his 
presence,  but  by  whom  ?  by  his  grandfather.  How  was  he  to 
avenge  the  one  without  outraging  the  other  ?  It  was  impossible 
for  him  to  insult  his  grandfather,  and  equally  impossible  for  him 
to  avenge  his  father.  On  one  side  was  a  sacred  tomb,  on  the 
other  was  white  hair.  He  tottered  for  a  few  moments  like  a 
drunken  man,  then  raised  his  eyes,  looked  fixedly  at  his  grand- 
father, and  shouted  in  a  thundering  voice, — 

"  Down  with  the  Bourbons,  and  that  great  pig  of  a  Louis 
XVIII.  !  " 

Louis  XVIII.  had  been  dead  four  years,  but  that  made  no 
difference  to  him.  The  old  man,  who  had  been  scarlet,  sud- 
denly became  whiter  than  his  hair.  He  turned  to  a  bust  of 
the  Due  de  Berry  which  was  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  bowed  to  it 
profoundly  with  a  sort  of  singular  majesty.  Then  he  walked 
twice,  slowly  and  silently,  from  the  mantel-piece  to  the  window, 
and  from  the  window  to  the  mantel-piece,  crossing  the  whole  room, 
and  making  the  boards  creak  as  if  he  were  a  walking  marble 
statue.  The  second  time  he  lent  over  his  daughter,  who  was 
looking  at  the  disturbance  with  the  stupor  of  an  old  sheep,  and 
said  to  her  with  a  smile  which  was  almost  calm, — 

"  A  baron  like  this  gentleman,  and  a  bourgeois  like  myself, 
can  no  longer  remain  beneath  the  same  roof." 

And  suddenly  drawing  himself  up,  livid,  trembling,  and  ter- 
rible, with  his  forehead  dilated  by  the  fearful  radiance  of  pas- 
sion, he  stretched  out  his  arm  toward  Marius,  and  shouted, 
"  Begone  !  " 

Marius  left  the  house,  and  on  the  morrow  M.  Gillenormand 
said  to  his  daughter, — 

"You  will  send  every  six  months  sixty  pistoles  to  that  blood- 
drinker,  and  never  mention  his  name  to  me." 

Having  an  immense  amount  of  fury  to  expend,  and  not 
knowing  what  to  do  with  it,  he  continued  to  address  his 
daughter  "  you "  instead  of  "  thou  "  for  upwards  of  three 
months. 

Marius,  on  his  side,  left  the  house  indignant,  and  a  circum- 
stance aggravated  his  exasperation.  There  are  always  small 
fatalities  of  this  nature  to  complicate  domestic  dramas :  the 
anger  is  augmented  although  the  wrongs  are  not  in  reality  in- 
creased. In  hurriedly  conveying,  by  the  grandfather's  order, 


64  £ES  MISERABLES. 

Marius'  rubbish  to  his  bed-room,  Nicollette,  without  noticing 
the  fact,  let  fall,  probably  on  the  attic  stairs,  which  were  dark, 
the  black  shagreen  case  in  which  was  the  paper  written  by  the 
colonel.  As  neither  could  be  found,  Marius  felt  convinced  that 
"Monsieur  Gillenormand" — he  never  called  him  otherwise 
from  that  date — had  thrown  "  his  father's  will  "  into  the  fire. 
He  knew  by  heart  the  few  lines  written  by  the  colonel,  and, 
consequently,  nothing  was  lost ;  but  the  paper,  the  writing, 
this  sacred  relic, — all  this  was  his  heart.  What  had  been  done 
with  it  ? 

Marius  went  away  without  saying  where  he  was  going  and 
without  knowing,  with  thirty  francs,  his  watch,  and  some 
clothes  in  a  carpet-bag.  He  jumped  into  a  cabriolet,  engaged 
it  by  the  hour,  and  proceeded  at  all  risks  toward  the  Pays 
latin. 

What  would  become  of  Marius? 


SfARIUS.  65 


BOOK  FOURTH. 


THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE  A.  B.  C. 

CHAPTER  I. 

A  GROUP  THAT  NEARLY  BECAME  HISTORICAL. 

AT  this  epoch,  which  was  apparently  careless,  a  certain  rev- 
olutionary quivering  was  vaguely  felt.  There  were  breezes  in  the 
air  which  returned  from  the  depths  of  '89  and  '92 ;  and  the 
young  men,  if  we  may  be  forgiven  the  expression,  were  in  the 
moulting  stage.  Men  became  transformed,  almost  without 
suspecting  it,  by  the  mere  movement  of  time,  for  the  hand 
which  moves  round  the  clock-face  also  moves  in  the  mind. 
Each  took  the  forward  step  he  had  to  take ;  the  royalists  be- 
came liberals,  and  the  liberals  democrats. 

It  was  like  a  rising  tide  complicated  by  a  thousand  ebbs, 
and  it  is  the  peculiarity  of  ebbs  to  cause  things  to  mingle. 
Hence  came  very  singular  combinations  of  ideas,  and  men 
adored  liberty  and  Napoleon  at  the  same  time.  We  are 
writing  history  here,  and  such  were  the  mirages  of  that  period. 
Opinions  pass  through  phases,  and  Voltairian  royalism,  a 
strange  variety,  had  a  no  less  strange  pendant  in  Bonapartist 
liberalism. 

Other  groups  of  minds  were  more  serious ;  at  one  spot  prin- 
ciples were  sounded,  and  at  another  men  clung  to  their  rights. 
They  became  impassioned  for  the  absolute,  and  obtained 
glimpses  of  infinite  realizations  ;  for  the  absolute,  through  its 
very  rigidity,  causes  minds  to  float  in  the  illimitable  aether. 
There  is  nothing  like  the  dogma  to  originate  a  dream,  and 
nothing  like  a  dream  to  engender  the  future ;  the  Utopia  of 
to-day  is  flesh  and  bone  to-morrow. 

Advanced  opinions  had  a  false  bottom,  and  a  commencement 
of  mystery  threatened  "  established  order,"  which  was  sus- 
picious and  cunning.  This  is  a  most  revolutionary  sign.  The 

5 


66  LES   MISERABLES. 

nfter-thought  of  the  authorities  meets  in  the  sap  the  after- 
thought of  the  people,  and  the  incubation  of  revolutions  is  the 
reply  to  the  premeditation  of  coups  d'etat. 

There  were  not  as  yet  in  France  any  of  those  vast  subjacent 
organizations,  like  the  Tugen  bund  of  Germany  or  the  Car- 
bonari of  Italy  ;  but  here  and  there  were  dark  subterranean 
passages  with  extensive  ramifications.  The  Cougourde  was 
started  at  Aix  ;  and  there  was  at  Paris,  among  other  affilia- 
tions of  this  nature,  the  society  of  the  friends  of  the  A.  B.  C. 

Who  were  the  friends  of  the  A.  B.  C.  ?  A  society,  whose 
ostensible  object  was  the  education  of  children,  but  the  real  one 
the  elevation  of  men. 

They  called  themselves  friends  of  the  A.  B.  C.,  and  the 
people  were  the  Abaisses  whom  they  wished  to  raise.  It  would 
be  wrong  to  laugh  at  this  pun,  for  puns  at  times  are  serious  in 
politics ;  witnesses  of  this  are  the  Castratus  ad  castra,  which 
made  Narses  general  of  an  army  ;  the  Barbari  and  Barberini  ; 
fueros  fuegos;  tu  es  Petras  el  super  hanc  Petram,  etc.,  etc. 

The  friends  of  the  A.  B.  C.  were  few  in  number ;  it  was  a 
secret  society,  in  a  state  of  embryo,  and  we  might  almost  call  it 
a  coterie,  if  coteries  produced  heroes.  They  assembled  at  two 
places  in  Paris ;  at  a  cabaret  called  Corinthe  near  the  Halles, 
to  which  we  shall  revert  hereafter,  and  near  the  Pantheon  in  a 
small  cafe  on  the  Place  St.  Michel,  known  as  the  Cafe 
Musain,  and  now  demolished  :  the  first  of  these  meeting- 
places  was  contiguous  to  the  workmen,  and  the  second  to  the 
students. 

The  ordinary  discussions  of  the  friends  of  the  A.  B.  C.  were 
held  in  a  back  room  of  the  Cafe  Musain. 

This  room,  some  distance  from  the  coffee-room,  with  which 
it  communicated  by  a  very  long  passage,  had  two  windows  and 
issue  by  a  secret  staircase  into  the  little  Rue  des  Gres.  They 
smoked,  drank,  played,  and  laughed  there ;  they  spoke  very 
loudly  about  everything,  and  in  a  whisper  about  the  other 
thing.  On  the  wall  hung  an  old  map  of  France  under  the 
republic,  which  would  have  been  a  sufficient  hint  for  a  police 
agent. 

Most  of  the  friends  of  the  A.  B.  C.  were  students,  who 
maintained  a  cordial  understanding  with  a  few  workmen.  Here 
are  the  names  of  the  principal  members,  which  belong  in  a 
certain  measure  to  history, — Enjolras,  Combeferre,  Jean  Prou- 
vaire,  Feuilly,  Courfeyrac,  Bahorel,  Lesgle  or  Laigle,  Joly, 
and  Grantaire. 


MARIUS.  67 

These  young  men  formed  a  species  of  family  through  theil 
friendship,  and  all  came  from  the  south,  excepting  Laigle. 

This  group  is  remarkable,  although  it  has  vanished  in  the 
invisible  depths  which  are  behind  us.  At  the  point  of  this 
drama  which  we  have  now  attained,  it  will  not  be  labor  lost, 
perhaps,  to  throw  a  ray  of  light  upon  these  heads,  before  the 
reader  watches  them  enter  the  shadows  of  a  tragical  adven- 
ture. 

Enjolras,  whom  we  named  first,  it  will  be  seen  afterwards 
why,  was  an  only  son,  and  rich.  » 

He  was  a  charming  young  man,  capable  of  becoming  terri- 
ble ;  he  was  angelically  beautiful,  and  looked  like  a  stern  An- 
tinous.  On  noticing  the  pensive  depth  of  his  glance  you  might 
have  fancied  that  he  had  gone  through  the  revolutionary  apoca- 
lypse in  some  preceding  existence.  He  knew  the  traditions  of 
it  like  an  eye-witness,  and  was  acquainted  with  all  the  minor 
details  of  the  great  thing.  His  was  a  pontifical  and  warlike 
nature,  strange  in  a  young  man ;  he  was  a  churchman 
and  a  militant ;  from  the  immediate  point  of  view  a  soldier  of 
democracy,  but,  above  the  contemporary  movement,  a  priest 
of  the  ideal.  He  had  a  slightly  red  eyelid,  a  thick  and  easily 
disdainful  lower  lip,  and  a  lofty  forehead  ;  a  good  deal  of  fore- 
head on  a  face  is  like  a  good  deal  of  sky  in  an  horizon.  Like 
certain  young  men  of  the  beginning  of  the  present  century  and 
the  end  of  the  last,  who  became  illustrious  at  an  early  age,  he 
looked  excessively  young,  and  was  as  fresh  as  a  school-girl, 
though  he  had  his  hours  of  pallor.  Although  a  man,  he 
seemed  still  a  boy,  and  his  t\vo-and-t\venty  years  looked  like 
only  seventeen ;  he  was  serious,  and  did  not  appear  to  know 
that  there  was  on  the  earth  a  being  called  a  woman.  He  had 
only  one  passion,  justice,  and  only  one  thought,  overthrowing 
the  obstacle.  On  the  Mons  Aventinus,  he  would  have  been 
Gracchus ;  in  the  convention,  he  would  have  been  St.  Just. 
He  scarcely  noticed  roses,  was  ignorant  of  spring,  and  did  not 
hear  the  birds  sing ;  the  bare  throat  of  Evadne  would  have 
affected  him  as  little  as  it  did  Aristogiton  -r  to  him,  as  to  Har- 
modius,  flowers  were  only  good  to  conceal  the  sword.  He  was 
stern  in  his  joy,  and  before  all  that  was  not  the  republic,  he 
chastely  lowered  his  eyes — he  was  the  marble  lover  of  liberty. 
His  language  had  9,  sharp  inspiration  and  a  species  of  rhythmic 
strain.  Woe  to  the  girl  who  ventured  to  insnare  him  !  If  any 
grisette  of  the  Place  Cambray,  or  the  Rue  St.  Jean  de  Beau- 
vais,  seeing  this  face  so  like  that  of  a  page,  his  long  light 
lashes,  his  blue  eyes,  his  hair  floating  wildly  in  the  breege,  his 


68  LES   MISERABLES. 

pink  cheeks,  cherry  lips,  and  exquisite  teeth,  had  felt  a  longing 
for  all  this  dawn,  and  tried  the  effect  of  her  charms  upon 
Enjolras,  a  formidable  look  of  surprise  would  have  suddenly 
shown  her  the  abyss,  and  taught  her  not  to  confound  the 
avenging  cherub  of  Ezekiel  with  the  gallant  cherub  of  Beau- 
marchais. 

By  the  side  of  Enjolras,  who  represented  the  logic  of  the 
Revolution,  Combeferre  represented  its  philosophy.  Between 
the  logic  and  the  philosophy  of  revolutions,  there  is  this  differ- 
ence, that  the  logic  may  conclude  in  war,  while  its  philosophy 
can  only  lead  to  peace.  Combeferre  completed  and  rectified 
Enjolras  ;  he  was  not  so  tall,  but  broader.  He  wished  that 
the  extended  principles  of  general  ideas  should  be  poured  over 
minds,  and  said,  "  Revolution  but  civilization  !  "  and  he  opened 
the  vast  blue  horizon  around  the  peaked  mountain.  Hence 
there  was  something  accessible  and  practicable  in  all  Combe- 
ferre's  views  ;  and  the  Revolution  with  him  was  more  respect- 
able than  with  Enjolras.  Enjolras  expressed  its  divine  right, 
and  Combeferre  its  natural  right,  and  while  the  former  clung 
to  Robespierre,  the  latter  bordered  upon  Condorcet.  Combe- 
ferre loved  more  than  Enjolras  the  ordinary  life  of  mankind  ; 
and  if  these  two  young  men  had  gained  a  place  in  history,  the 
one  would  have  been  the  just  man,  the  other  the  sage.  Enjolras 
was  more  manly,  Combeferre  more  humane,  and  the  distinction 
between  them  was,  that  between  homo  and  vir.  Combeferre 
was  gentle  as  Enjolras  was  stern,  through  natural  whiteness; 
he  loved  the  word  citizen,  but  preferred  man,  and  would  have 
gladly  said  Hombre,  like  the  Spaniards.  He  read  everything, 
went  to  the  theatres,  attended  the  public  lectures,  learned  from 
Arago  the  polarization  of  light,  and  grew  quite  excited  about  a 
lecture  in  which  Geoffroy  St.  Hilaire  explained  the  double 
functions  of  the  external  and  internal  carotid  arteries,  the  one 
which  makes  the  face,  and  the  other  which  produces  the  brain; 
he  was  conversant  with,  and  followed,  science  step  by  step, 
confronted  St.  Simon  with  Fourier,  deciphered  hieroglyphics, 
broke  pebbles  which  he  found,  drew  from  memory  a  bombyx 
butterfly,  pointed  out  the  errors  in  French  in  the  dictionary  of 
the  Academy,  studied  Puysegur  and  Deleuze,  affirmed  noth- 
ing, not  even  miracles,  denied  nothing  not  even  ghosts,  turned 
over  the  file  of  the  Moniteur  and  reflected.  He  declared  that 
the  future  is  in  the  hand  of  the  schoolmaster,  and  busied  him- 
self with  educational  questions.  He  wished  that  society  should 
labor  without  relaxation  at  the  elevation  of  the  intellectual  and 
moral  standard,  at  coining  science,  bringing  ideas  into  circula 


MARIUS.  69 

tion,  and  making  the  minds  of  youth  grow ;  and  he  feared  that 
the  present  poverty  of  methods,  the  wretchedness  from  the  lit- 
erary point  of  view  of  confining  studies  to  two  or  three  cen- 
turies called  classical,  the  tyrannical  dogmatism  of  official  ped- 
ants, scholastic  prejudices,  and  routine  would  in  the  end  con- 
vert our  colleges  into  artificial  oyster-beds.  He  was  learned, 
a  purist,  polite,  and  polytechnic,  a  delver,  and  at  the  time  pen- 
sive, "  even  to  a  chimera,"  as  his  friends  said.  He  believed 
in  all  dreams,  railways,  the  suppression  of  suffering  in  surgical 
operations,  fixing  the  image  of  the  camera  obscura,  electric 
telegraphy,  and  the  steering  of  balloons.  He  was  slightly 
terrified  by  the  citadels  built  on  all  sides  against  the  human 
race  by  superstitions,  despotisms,  and  prejudices,  for  he  was 
one  of  those  men  who  think  that  science  will,  in  the  end,  turn 
the  position.  Enjolras  was  a  chief,  and  Combeferre  a  guide  ; 
you  would  have  liked  to  fight  under  one  and  march  with  the 
other.  Not  that  Combeferre  was  incapable  of  fighting,  he  did 
not  refuse  to  seize  obstacles  round  the  waist  and  attack  them 
by  main  force ;  but  it  pleased  him  better  to  bring  the  human 
race  into  harmony  with  its  destiny,  gradually,  by  the  instruc- 
tion of  axioms  and  the  promulgation  of  positive  laws ;  and 
with  a  choice  between  two  lights,  his  inclination  was  for  illum- 
ination rather  than  fire.  A  fire  may  certainly  produce  a  dawn, 
but  why  not  wait  for  daybreak  ?  A  volcano  illumines,  but  the 
sun  does  so  far  better.  Combeferre  perhaps  preferred  the 
whiteness  of  the  beautiful  to  the  flashing  of  the  sublime,  and  a 
brightness  clouded  by  smoke,  a  progress  purchased  by  violence, 
only  half  satisfied  his  tender  and  serious  mind.  A  headlong 
hurling  of  a  people  into  the  truth,  a  '93,  startled  him ;  still 
stagnation  was  more  repulsive  to  him,  for  he  smelt  in  it  putre- 
faction and  death.  Altogether  he  liked  foam  better  than  mi- 
asma, and  preferred  the  torrent  to  the  sewer,  and  the  falls  of 
Niagara  to  the  lake  of  Montfaucon.  In  a  word,  he  desired 
neither  halt  nor  haste,  and  while  his  tumultuous  friends,  who 
were  chivalrously  attracted  by  the  absolute,  adored  and  sum- 
moned the  splendid  revolutionary  adventurer,  Combeferre  in- 
clined to  leave  progress,  right  progress,  to  act — it  might  be 
cold  but  it  was  pure,  methodical,  but  irreproachable,  and  phleg- 
matic but  imperturbable.  Combeferre  would  have  knelt  down 
and  prayed  that  this  future  might  arrive  with  all  its  candor,  and 
that  nothing  might  disturb  the  immense  virtuous  evolution  of 
the  peoples.  Ttie  good  must  be  innocent,  he  repeated  incessantly. 
And  in  truth,  if  the  grandeur  of  the  Revolution  is  to  look  fix- 
edly at  the  dazzling  ideal,  and  fly  toward  it  through  the  light- 


JQ  LES   MISERABLES. 

ning,  with  blood  and  fire  in  the  claws,  the  beauty  of  progress 
is  to  be  unspotted ;  and  there  is  between  Washington,  who 
represents  the  one,  and  Danton,  who  is  the  incarnation  of  the 
other,  the  same  difference  as  that  which  separates  the  angel 
with  the  swan's  wings  from  the  angel  with  the  eagle's  wings. 

Jean  Prouvaire  was  of  an  even  softer  tinge  than  Combeferre  ; 
he  was  called  "  Jehan,"  through  that  little  momentary  fantasy 
which  was  blended  with  the  powerful  and  profound  movement, 
from  which  issued  the  most  necessary  study  of  the  middle  ages. 
Jean  Prouvaire  was  in  love,  cultivated  a  pot  of  flowers,  played 
the  flute,  wrote  verses,  loved  the  people,  pitied  women,  wept 
over  children,  confounded  in  the  same  confidence  the  future 
and  God,  and  blamed  the  Revolution  for  having  caused  a  royal 
head  to  fall,  that  of  Andre  Chenier.  He  had  a  voice  which 
was  habitually  delicate,  and  suddenly  became  masculine  ;  he 
was  erudite,  and  almost  an  Orientalist.  He  was  good  before 
all,  and  through  a  motive  which  those  will  easily  understand 
who  know  how  closely  goodness  borders  on  grandeur, — he 
loved  immensity  in  poetry.  He  knew  Italian,  Latin,  Greek, 
and  Hebrew,  and  he  employed  his  knowledge  to  read  only  four 
poets, — Dante,  Juvenal,  ^Eschylus,  and  Isaiah.  In  French  he 
preferred  Corneille  to  Racine,  and  Agrippa  d'Aubigne  to  Cor- 
neille.  He  was  fond  of  strolling  about  the  fields  of  wild  oats 
and  corn-flowers,  and  occupied  himself  with  clouds  almost  as 
much  as  with  events.  His  mind  had  two  attitudes, — one 
turned  to  man,  the  other  to  God  ;  he  either  studied  or  contem- 
plated. The  whole  day  long  he  studied  social  questions, — 
wages,  capital,  credit,  marriage,  religion,  liberty  of  thought, 
liberty  of  love,  education,  the  penal  code,  wretchedness,  part- 
nership, property,  production,  and  division,  that  enigma  of  the 
lower  world  which  casts  a  shadow  over  the  human  ant-heap, 
and  at  night  he  looked  at  the  stars,  those  enormous  beings. 
Like  Enjolras,  he  was  rich,  and  an  only  son  ;  he  talked  softly, 
hung  his  head,  looked  down,  smiled  with  an  embarrassed  air, 
dressed  badly,  had  an  awkward  gait,  blushed  at  a  nothing,  and 
was  very  timid ;  with  all  that  he  was  intrepid. 

Feuilly  was  a  journeyman  fan-maker,  doubly  an  orphan,  who 
laboriously  earned  three  francs  a  day,  and  had  only  one  idea — 
to  deliver  the  world.  He  had  another  preoccupation  as  well, 
instructing  himself,  which  he  called  self-deliverance.  He  had 
taught  himself  to  read  and  write  ;  and  all  that  he  knew  he 
had  learned  alone.  Feuilly  had  a  generous  heart,  and  hugged 
the  world.  This  orphan  had  adopted  the  peoples,  and  as  he 
had  no  mother,  he  meditated  on  his  country.  He  had  wished 


MARIUS.  71 

that  there  should  not  be  in  the  world  a  man  who  had  no  coun- 
try, and  he  brooded  over  what  we  now  call  the  "  idea  of  nation- 
alities "  with  the  profound  divination  of  the  man  of  the  people. 
He  hud  studied  history  expressly  that  he  might  be  indignant 
with  a  knowledge  of  the  fact,  and  in  this  youthful  assembly  of 
Utopians  who  were  specially  interested  about  France,  he  rep- 
resented the  foreign  element.  His  speciality  was  Greece, 
Poland,  Eoumania,  Hungary,  and  Italy ;  he  pronounced  these 
names  incessantly,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  with  the  te- 
nacity of  right.  The  violations  committed  by  Turkey  on 
Greece  and  Thessaly,  of  Russia  on  Warsaw,  and  Austria  on 
Venice,  exasperated  him,  and  above  all  the  great  highway- 
robbery  of  1772  aroused  him.  There  can  be  no  more  sovereign 
eloquence  than  truth  in  indignation,  and  he  was  eloquent  with 
that  eloquence.  He  never  left  off  talking  about  the  infamous 
date  1772,  the  noble  and  valiant  people  suppressed  by 
treachery,  this  crime  committed  by  three  accomplices,  and  the 
monstrous  ambush,  which  is  the  prototype  and  pattern  of  all 
those  frightful  suppressions  of  states,  which  have  since  struck 
several  nations,  and  have,  so  to  speak,  erased  their  name  from 
the  baptismal  register.  All  the  social  assaults  of  the  present 
day  emanate  from  the  division  of  Poland,  and  it  is  a  theorem, 
to  which  all  our  political  crimes  are  corollaries.  There  is  not 
a  despot  or  a  traitor  who  for  a  century  past  has  not  revised, 
confirmed,  counter-signed,  and  margined  with  the  words  ne 
varietur,  the  division  of  Poland.  "When  we  consult  the  list  of 
modern  treasons  this  appears  the  first,  and  the  Congress  of 
Vienna  consulted  this  crime  ere  it  consummated  its  own  ;  1772 
sounds  the  mort,  and  1815  witnesses  the  gralloching  of  the 
stag.  Such  was  Feuilly's  usual  text.  This  poor  workman 
had  made  himself  the  guardian  of  justice,  and  she  rewarded 
him  by  making'  him  grand.  In  truth,  there  is  an  eternity  in 
justice,  and  Warsaw  can  no  more  be  Tartar  than  Venice,  Ger- 
man. Kings  lose  their  time  and  their  honor  over  such  things. 
Sooner  or  later,  the  submerged  country  floats  on  the  surface 
and  reappears.  Greece  becomes  Greece  once  more,  and  Italy, 
Italy.  The  protest  of  right  against  deeds  persists  forever,  and 
there  is  no  law  of  prescription  for  the  robbery  of  a  nation. 
Such  high  acts  of  swell-mobbism  have  no  future,  and  the  mark 
cannot  be  taken  out  of  a  nation  like  a  handkerchief. 

Courfeyrac  had  a  father  who  was  known  as  M.  de  Courfey- 
rac.  One  of  the  incorrect  ideas  of  the  bourgeoisie  of  the  Res- 
toration in  the  matter  of  the  aristocracy  and  the  nobility  was  a 
belief  in  the  particle.  The  particle,  as  we  know,  has  no  mean- 


72  LF.S   MISERABLES. 

ing,  but  the  bourgeons  of  the  time  of  the  Minerve  esteemed  this 
poor  de  so  highly  that  persons  thought  themselves  obliged  to 
abdicate  it.  M.  de  Chauvelin  called  himself  M.  Chauvelin  ; 
M.  de  Caumartin,  M.  Caumartin  ;  M.  de  Constant  de  Rebec- 
que,  Benjamin  Constant ;  and  M.  de  Lafayette,  M.  Lafayette. 
Courfeyrac  was  unwilling  to  remain  behindhand,  and  called 
himself  Courfeyrac  quite  short. 

As  concerns  this  gentleman,  we  might  almost  stop  here  and 
•content  ourselves  with  saying  as  to  the  rest,  for  Courfeyrac 
read  Tholomyes ;  Courfeyrac,  in  fact,  had  those  sallies  of 
youth  which  might  be  called  a  mental  beaute  du  diable.  At  a 
jater  date  this  expires  like  the  prettiness  of  the  kitten  ;  and  all 
this  grace  produces,  upon  two  feet  the  bourgeois,  and  on  four 
paws  the  tom-cat. 

The  generations  which  pass  through  the  schools,  and  the 
successive  levies  of  youth,  transmit  this  species  of  wit  from  one 
to  the  other,  and  pass  it  from  hand  to  hand,  quasi  cursores, 
nearly  always  the  same ;  so  that,  as  we  have  said,  the  first 
comer  who  had  listened  to  Courfeyrac  in  1828  might  have  fan- 
cied he  was  hearing  Tholomyes  in  1817.  The  only  thing  was 
that  Courfeyrac  was  an  honest  fellow,  and  beneath  an  apparent 
external  similitude,  the  difference  between  Tholomyes  and  him- 
self was  great,  and  the  latent  man  who  existed  within  them 
was  very  other  in  the  former  from  what  it  was  in  the  latter. 

In  Tholomyes  there  was  au  attorney,  and  in  Courfeyrac  a 
Paladin ;  Enjolras  was  the  chief,  Combeferre  the  guide,  and 
Courfeyrac  the  centre.  The  others  gave  more  light,  but  he 
produced  more  heat ;  and  he  had  in  truth  all  the  qualities  of  a 
centre,  in  the  shape  of  roundness  and  radiation. 

Bahorel  had  been  mixed  up  in  the  sanguinary  tumult  of 
June,  1822,  on  the  occasion  of  the  burial  of  young  Lallemand. 

Bahorel  was  a  being  of  good  temper  and  bad  company,  an 
honest  fellow  and  a  spendthrift,  prodigal  and  meeting  with 
generosity,  chattering  and  meeting  with  eloquence,  bold  and 
meeting  with  effrontery  ;  and  the  very  best  clay  for  the  devil's 
moulding  imaginable.  He  displayed  daring  waist-coats  and 
scarlet  opinions  ;  he  was  a  turbulent  on  a  grand  scale,  that  is 
to  say,  that  he  liked  nothing  so  much  as  a  quarrel  unless  it 
were  an  emeute,  and  nothing  so  much  as  an  emeute  except  a 
revolution.  He  was  ever  ready  to  break  a  pane  of  glass,  tear 
up  the  paving-stones,  and  demolish  a  government,  in  order  to 
see  the  effect — he  was  a-  student  in  his  eleventh  year.  He 
sniffed  at  the  law,  but  did  not  practise  it,  and  he  had  taken  as 
his  motto  "  never  a  lawyer,"  and  as  his  coat  of  arms  a  night- 


MARIUS.  73 

table  surmounted  by  a  square  cap.  Whenever  he  passed  in 
front  of  the  law  school,  which  rarely  happened  to  him,  he  but> 
toned  up  his  frock-coat  and  took  hygienic  precautions.  He 
said  of  the  school  gate,  "  What  a  fierce  old  man  !  "  and  of  the 
Dean  M.  Devincourt,  "What  a  monument!"  He  found  in 
his  lectures  a  subject  for  coarse  songs,  and  in  his  professors  an 
occasion  for  laughter.  He  spent  in  doing  nothing  a  very  con- 
siderable allowance,  something  like  three  thousand  francs,  and 
his  parents  were  peasants  in  whom  he  had  inculcated  a  respect 
for  their  son. 

He  used  to  say  of  them,  "  They  are  peasants,  and  not  towns- 
people, that  is  why  they  are  so  intelligent." 

Bahorel,  as  a  capricious  man,  visited  several  cafSs ;  and 
while  the  others  had  habits  he  had  none.  He  strolled  about : 
if  errare  is  human,  strolling  is  Parisian.  Altogether,  he  had  a 
penetrating  mind  and  thought  moi'e  than  people  fancied. 

He  served  as  the  connecting  link  between  the  friends  of  the  A. 
B.  C.  and  other  groups  which  were  still  unformed,  but  which 
were  to  be  constituted  at  a  later  date. 

There  was  in  this  assembly  of  young  men  a  bald-headed 
member.  The  Marquis  d'  Avaray,  whom  Louis  XVIII.  made 
a  duke  because  he  helped  him  to  get  into  a  hired  cab  on  the 
day  when  he  emigrated,  used  to  tell  how,  when  the  king  landed 
in  1814  at  Calais  upon  his  return  to  France,  a  man  handed 
him  a  petition. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  the  king  said. 

"  A  postmastership,  sire." 

"  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  L'Aigle." 

The  king  frowned,  but  looked  at  the  signature  of  the  petition, 
and  read  the  name  thus  written,  Lesgle.  This;  any  thing  but 
Bonapartist  orthography,  touched  the  king  and  he  began 
smiling.  "Sire,"  the  man  with  the  petition  went  oh,  "my 
ancestor  was  a  whipper-in  of  the  name  of  Lesgueules,  and  my 
name  came  from  that.  I  called  myself  Lesgueules,  by  contraction 
Lesgle,  and  by  corruption  L'Aigle."  This  remark  caused  the 
king  to  smile  still  more,  and  at  a  later  date  he  gave  the  man  the 
post-office  at  Meaux,  purposely  or  through  a  mistake. 

The  bald  Mentor  of  the  group  was  son*  of  this  Lesgle  or 
Legle,  and  signed  himself  Legle  (of  Meaux).  His  comrades,  to 
shorten  this,  called  him  Bossuet,  who,  as  everybody  knows, 
was  christened  the  Eagle  of  Meaux. 

Bossuet  was  a  merry  fellow,  who  was  unlucky,  and  his 
speciality  was  to  succeed  in  nothing.  Per  contra,  he  laughed 


74  LES  MISERABLES. 

at  everything.  At  the  age  of  five-and-twenty  he  was  bald ; 
his  father  left  him  a  house  and  a  field,  but  the  son  knew  nothing 
so  pressing  as  to  lose  them  both  in  a  swindling  speculation, 
and  nothing  was  left  him.  He  had  learning  and  sense,  but  he 
failed  in  every  thing  and  every  thing  cozened  him  ;  whatever 
he  built  up  broke  down  under  him.  If  he  chopped  wood,  he 
cut  his  fingers  ;  and  if  he  had  a  mistress,  he  speedily  discovered 
that  she  had  also  a  friend.  At  every  moment  some  misfortune 
happened  to  him,  and  hence  came  his  joviality  ;  and  he  used  to 
say,  "  I  live  under  the  roof  of  falling  tiles."  Feeling  but 
slight  astonishment,  for  every  accident  was  foreseen  by  him,  he 
accepted  ill-luck  serenely,  and  smiled  at  the  pin-pricks  of 
destiny  like  a  man  who  is  listening  to  a  good  joke.  He  was 
poor,  but  his  wallet  of  good  temper  was  inexhaustible  ;  he 
speedily  reached  his  last  halfpenny,  but  never  his  last  laugh. 
When  adversity  entered  his  room  he  bowed  to  his  old  acquaint- 
ance cordially ;  he  tickled  catastrophes  in  the  ribs,  and  was  so 
familiar  with  fatality  as  to  cull  it  by  a  nick-name. 

These  ersecutions  of  fate  had  rendered  him  inventive,  and  he 
was  full  of  resources.  He  had  no  money,  but  contrived  to 
make  a  "  frenzied  outlay  "  whenever  he  thought  proper.  One 
night  he  went  so  far  as  to  devour  a  hundred  francs  in  a  supper 
with  a  girl,  which  inspired  him  in  the  middle  of  the  orgie  with 
the  memorable  remark,  "  Fille  de  cinq  Louis  (-Saint  Louis)  ; 
pull  off  my  boots." 

Bossuet  was  advancing  slowly  to  the  legal  profession,  and 
studied  law  much  after  the  fashion  of  Bahorel.  Bossuet  had 
but  little  domicile,  at  times  none  at  all,  and  he  lived  first  with 
one  and  then  with  the  other,  but  most  frequently  with  Joly. 

Joly  was  a  student  of  medicine,  of  two  years'  younger  stand- 
ing than  Bossuet,  and  was  the  young  imaginary  sick  man. 
What  he  had  gained  by  his  medical  studies  was  to  be  more  a 
patient  than  a  doctor,  for  at  the  age  of  twenty-three  he  fancied 
himself  a  valetudinarian,  and  spent  his  life  in  looking  at  his 
tongue  in  a  mirror.  He  declared  that  a  man  becomes  magnet- 
ized like  a  needle,  and  in  his  room  he  placed  his  bed  with  the 
head  to  the  south  and  the  feet  to  the  north,  so  that  at  night  the 
circulation  of  his  blood  might  not  be  impeded  by  the  great  mag- 
netic current  of  the  globe.  In  storms  he  felt  his  pulse,  but  for 
all  that  was  the  gayest  of  all.  All  these  incoherences,  youth, 
mania,  dispepsia,  and  fun,  lived  comfortably  together,  and  the 
result  was  an  eccentric  and  agreeable  bekig,  whom  his  com- 
rades, lavish  of  liquid  consonants,  called  Jollly. 


MARIUS.  75 

Joly  was  accustomed  to  touch  his  nose  with  the  end  of  his 
cane,  which  is  the  sign  of  a  sagacious  mind. 

All  these  young  men,  who  differed  so  greatly,  and  of  whom, 
after  all  we  must  speak  seriously,  had  the  same  religion, — Prog- 
ress. 

They  were  all  the  direct  sons  of  the  French  Revolution,  and 
the  lightest  among  them  became  serious  when  pronouncing  the 
date  of  '89.  Their  fathers  in  the  flesh  were,  or  had  been, 
feuilletants,  royalists,  or  doctrinaires,  but  that  was  of  little  con- 
sequence ;  this  pell-mell,  anterior  to  themselves,  who  were 
young,  did  not  concern  them,  and  the  pure  blood  of  principles 
flowed  in  their  veins ;  they  attached  themselves,  without  any 
intermediate  tinge,  to  incorruptible  right  and  absolute  duty. 

Amid  all  these  impassioned  hearts  and  convinced  minds  there 
was  a  skeptic;  how  did  he  get  there  ?  through  juxtaposition. 
The  name  of  this  skeptic  was  Grantaire,  and  he  usually  wrote 
it  after  the  manner  of  a  charade, — R* Grantaire  was  a  man 
who  carefully  avoided  believing  in  any  thing ;  he  was,  however, 
one  of  these  students  who  had  learned  the  most  during  a 
Parisian  residence.  He  knew  that  the  best  coffee  was  at 
Lemblier's,  and  the  best  billiard-table  at  the  Cafe  Voltaire  ; 
that  excellent  cakes  and  agreeable  girls  could  be  found  at  the 
Hermitage  on  the  Boulevard  du  Maine,  spatch-cocks  at  Mother 
Saquet's,  excellent  matelottes  at  the  Barriere  de  la  Cunette, 
and  a  peculiar  white  wine  at  the  Barriere  du  Combat.  Be- 
sides all  this,  he  was  a  mighty  drinker.  He  was  abominably 
ugly,  and  Irma  Boissy,  the  prettiest  boot-binder  of  that  day,  in 
her  indignation  at  his  ugliness,  passed  the  verdict, — "  Grantaire 
is  impossible."  But  Grantaire's  fatuity  was  not  disconcerted 
by  this.  He  looked  tenderly  and  fixedly  at  every  woman,  and 
assumed  an  expression  of  "  If  I  only  liked  !  "  and  he  tried  to 
make  his  companions  believe  that  he  was  in  general  request 
with  the  sex. 

All  such  words  as  rights  of  the  people,  rights  of  man,  the 
social  contract,  the  French  Revolution,  republic,  democracy, 
humanity,  civilization,  progress,  had  as  good  as  no  meaning 
with  Grantaire,  and  he  smiled  at  them.  Scepticism,  that  curse 
of  the  intellect,  had  not  left  him  one  whole  idea  in  his  mind. 
He  lived  in  irony,  and  his  axiom  was,  "  There  is  only  one 
thing  certain,  my  full  glass."  He  ridiculed  every  act  of  devo- 
tion in  every  party, — the  brother  as  much  as  the  father,  young 
Robespierre  as  heartily  as  Loizerolles. 

"  They  made  great  progress  by  dying,"  he  would  exclaim ; 
*  Grantaire:=Grand  R. 


76  LES   MISERABLES. 

and  would  say  of  the  crucifix,  "  There  is  a  gallows  which  was 
successful."  Idler,  gambler,  libertine,  and  often  intoxicated, 
he  annoyed  these  young  democrats  by  incessantly  singing, 
"  F'aimons  lesjilles  etfaimons  le  bon  vin,"  to  the  tune  of  "  Long 
live  Henri  IV." 

This  sceptic,  however,  had  a  fanaticism;  it  was  neither  an 
idea,  a  dogma,  an  act,  nor  a  sense  ;  it  was  a  man, — Enjolras. 
Grantaire  admired,  loved,  and  revered  Enjolras.  Whom  did 
this  anarchial  doubter  cling  to  in  this  phalanx  of  absolute 
minds?  to  the  most  absolute.  In  what  way  did  Enjolras  sub- 
jugate him?  by  ideas?  No,  but  by  character.  This  is  a 
frequently  observed  phenomena,  and  a  sceptic  who  clings  to  a 
believer  is  as  simple  as  the  law  of  complementary  colors.  What 
we  do  not  possess  attracts  us  ;  no  one  loves  daylight  like  the 
blind  man  ;  the  dwarf  adores  the  drum-major,  and  the  frog  has 
its  eyes  constantly  fixed  on  heaven  to  see  the  bird  fly.  Gran- 
taire, in  whom  doubt  grovelled,  liked  to  see  faith  soaring  in 
Enjolras,  and  he  felt  the  want  of  him,  without  clearly  under- 
standing it,  or  even  dreaming  of  explaining  the  fact  to  himself. 
This  chaste,  healthy,  firm,  upright,  harsh,  and  candid  nature 
charmed  him,  and  he  instinctively  admired  his  contrary.  His 
soft,  yielding,  dislocated,  sickly,  and  shapeless  ideas  attached 
themselves  to  Enjolras  as  to  a  vertebra,  and  his  moral  rickets 
supported  themselves  by  this  firmness.  Grantaire,  by  the  side 
of  Enjolras,  became  somebody  again  ;  and  he  was,  moreover, 
himself  composed  of  two  apparently  irreconcilable  elements, — 
he  was  ironical  and  cordial.  His  mind  could  do  without  belief, 
but  his  heart  could  not  do  without  friendship.  This  is  a  profound 
contradiction,  for  an  affection  is  a  conviction,  but  his  nature 
was  so.  There  are  some  men  apparently  born  to  be  the  re- 
verse of  the  coin,  and  their  names  are  Pollux,  Patroclus,  Nisus, 
Eudamidas,  Ephestion,  and  Pechmeja.  They  only  live  on  the 
condition  of  being  backed  by  another  man ;  their  name  is  a 
continuation,  and  is  never  written  except  preceded  by  the 
conjunction  and ;  their  existence  is  not  their  own,  but  is  the 
other  side  of  a  destiny  which  is  not  theirs.  Grantaire  was  one 
of  these  men. 

We  might  almost  say  that  affinities  commence  with  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  and  in  the  series,  O  and  P  are  almost 
inseparable.  You  may,  as  you  please,  say  0  and  P,  or  Orestes 
and  Pylades. 

Grantaire,  a  true  satellite  of  Enjolras,  dwelt  in  this  circle  of 
young  men  :  he  lived  there,  he  solely  enjoyed  himself  there, 
and  he  followed  them  everywhere.  His  delight  was  to  see  their 


MARIUS.  77 

ahadows  coming  and  going  through  the  fumes  of  wine,  and  he 
was  tolerated  for  his  pleasant  humor. 

Enjolras,  as  a  believer,  disdained  this  skeptic,  and  as  a  sober 
man  loathed  this  drunkard,  but  he  granted  him  a  little  haughty 
pity.  Grantaire  was  an  unaccepted  Pylades :  constantly  re- 
pulsed by  Enjolras,  harshly  rejected,  and  yet  returning,  he  used 
to  say  of  him,  "  What  a  splendid  statue !  " 


CHAPTER  IL 

• 

A   FUNERAL    ORATION. 

ON  a  certain  afternoon,  which,  as  we  shall  see,  has  some  co- 
incidence with  the  events  recorded  above,  Laigle  de  Meaux 
was  sensually  leaning  against  the  door-post  of  the  Cafe  Musain. 
He  looked  like  a  caryatid  out  for  a  holiday,  and  having  nothing 
to  carry  but  his  reverie.  Leaning  on  one's  shoulders  is  a  mode 
of  lying  down  upright  which  is  not  disliked  by  dreamers. 
Laigle  de  Meaux  was  thinking,  without  melancholy,  of  a  slight 
misadventure  which  had  occurred  to  him  on  the  previous  day 
but  one  at  the  law  school,  and  modified  his  personal  plans  for 
the  future,  which,  as  it  was,  were  somewhat  indistinct. 

Reverie  does  not  prevent  a  cabriolet  from  passing,  or  a 
dreamer  from  noticing  the  cabriolet.  Laigle,  whose  eyes  were 
absently  wandering,  saw  through  this  somnambulism  a  two- 
wheeled  vehicle  moving  across  the  Place  St.  Michel  at  a  foot- 
pace and  apparently  undecided.  What  did  this  cab  want? 
why  was  it  going  so  slowly  ?  Laigle  looked  at  it,  and  saw  in- 
side a  young  man  seated  by  the  side  of  the  driver,  and  in  front 
of  the  young  man  a  carpet-bag.  The  bag  displayed  to  passers- 
by  this  name,  written  in  large  black  letters  on  the  card  sewn  to 
the  cloth,  MARIUS  PONTMERCY. 

This  name  made  Laigle  change  his  attitude :  he  drew  him- 
self up,  and  shouted  to  the  young  man  in  the  cab,  "  M.  Marius 
Pontmercy." 

The  cab  stopped,  on  being  thus  hailed,  and  the  young  man, 
Who  also  appeared  to  be  thinking  deeply,  raised  his  eyes. 

«  Hilloh  ?  "  he  said,— 

"  Are  you  M.  Pontmercy  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  was  looking  for  you,"  Laigle  of  Meaux  continued. 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked   Marius,  for  it  was  really  he,  who  had 


78  LES   MISERABLES. 

just  left  his  grandfather's,  and  had  before  him  a  face  which  he 
saw  for  the  first  time.  "  I  do  not  know  you." 

"  And  I  don't  know  you  either." 

Marius  fancied  that  he  had  to  do  with  a  practical  joker,  and, 
as  he  was  not  in  the  best  of  tempers  at  the  moment,  frowned. 
Laigle  imperturbably  continued, — 

"  You  were  not  at  lecture  the  day  before  yesterday  !  " 

"  Very  possibly." 

"  It  is  certain." 

"  Are  you  a  student  ?''  Marius  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,  like  yourself.  The  day  before  yesterday  I  en- 
tered the  law  school  by  chance ;  as  you  know,  a  man  has  an 
idea  like  that  sometimes.  The  professor  was  engaged  in  call- 
ing over,  and  you  are  aware  how  ridiculously  strict  they  are  in 
the  school  at  the  present  moment.  Upon  the  third  call  re- 
maining unanswered,  your  name  is  erased  from  the  list,  and 
sixty  francs  are  gone." 

Marius  began  to  listen,  and  Laigle  continued, — 

"  It  was  Blondeau  who  was  calling  over.  You  know  Blon- 
deau  has  a  pointed  and  most  malicious  nose,  and  scents  the  ab- 
sent with  delight.  He  craftily  began  with  the  letter  P,  and  I 
did  not  listen,  because  I  was  not  compromised  by  that  letter. 
The  roll-call  went  on  capitally,  there  was  no  erasure,  and 
the  universe  was  present.  Blondeau  was  sad,  and  I  said  to 
myself  aside,  '  Blondeau,  my  love,  you  will  not  perform  the 
•lightest  execution  to-day.'  All  at  once  Blondeau  calls  out, 
1  Marius  Pontmercy.'  No  one  answered,  and  so  Blondeau, 
full  of  hope,  repeats  in  a  louder  voice,  '  Marius  Pontmercy,' 
and  takes  up  his  pen.  I  have  bowels,  sir,  and  said  to  myself 
hurriedly,  '  The  name  of  a  good  fellow  is  going  to  be  erased. 
Attention  !  he  is  not  a  proper  student,  a  student  who  studies, 
a  reading  man,  a  pedantic  sap,  strong  in  science,  literature, 
theology,  and  philosophy.  No,  he  is  an  honorable  idler,  who 
lounges  about,  enjoys  the  country,  cultivates  the  grisette, 
pays  his  court  to  the  ladies,  and  is  perhaps  with  my  mis- 
tress at  this  moment.  I  must  save  him  :  death  to  Blondeau  ! ' 
At  this  moment  Blondeau  dipped  his  pen,  black  with  eras- 
ures, into  the  ink,  looked  round  his  audience,  and  repeated 
for  the  third  time,  '  Marius  Pontmerey  !  '  I  answered,  '  Here ! ' 
and  so  your  name  was  not  erased." 

"  Sir  !  "  Marius  exclaimed. 

"  And  mine  was,"  Laigle  of  Meaux  added. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Marius. 

Laigle  continued, — 


MARIUS.  79 

'And  yet  it  was  very  simple.  I  was  near  the  desk  to  an- 
swer, and  near  the  door  to  bolt.  The  professor  looked  at  me 
with  a  certain  fixedness,  and  suddenly  Blondeau,  who  must  be 
the  crafty  nose  to  which  Boileau  refers,  leaps  to  the  letter  L. 
which  is  my  letter,  for  I  comes  from  Meaux,  and  my  name  is 
L'Esgle." 

"  L'Aigle  !  "  Marius  interrupted,  "what  a  glorious  name." 

"  Blondeau  arrives,  sir,  at  that  glorious  name,  and  exclaims 
'  L'Aigle  ! '  I  answer,  '  Here  ! '  Then  Blondeau  looks  at  me 
with  the  gentleness  of  a  tiger,  smiles,  and  says, — '  If  you  are 
Pontmercy  you  are  not  Laigle,'  a  phrase  which  appears  offen- 
sive to  you,  but  which  was  only  lugubrious  for  me.  After  say- 
ing this,  he  erased  me." 

Marius  exclaimed, — 

"  I  am  really  mortified,  sir, — " 

"  Before  all,"  Laigle  interrupted,  "  I  ask  leave  to  embalm 
Blondeau  in  a  few  phrases  of  heart-felt  praise.  I  will  sup- 
pose him  dead,  and  there  will  not  be  much  to  alter  in  his 
thinness,  paleness,  coldness,  stiffness,  and  smell,  and  I  say, 
Erudimini  qui  judicatis  terram.  Here  lies  Blondeau,  the  noisy, 
Blondeau  Nasica,  the  ox  of  discipline,  bos  discipline,  the 
mastiff  of  duty,  the  angel  of  the  roll-call,  who  was  straight, 
square,  exact,  rigid,  honest,  and  hideous.  God  erased  him  as 
he  erased  me." 

Marious  continued,  "  I  am  most  grieved — " 

"  Young  man,"  said  Laigle,  "  let  this  serve  you  as  a  lesson  ; 
in  future  be  punctual." 

"  I  offer  you  a  thousand  apologies." 

"  And  do  not  run  the  risk  of  getting  your  neighbor  erased." 

"  I  am  in  despair — " 

Laigle  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  And  I  am  enchanted.  I  was  on  the  downward  road  to 
become  a  lawyer,  and  this  erasure  saves  me.  I  renounce  the 
triumphs  of  the  bar.  I  will  not  defend  the  orphan  or  attack 
the  widow.  I  have  obtained  my  expulsion,  and  I  am  in- 
debted to  you  for  it,  M.  Pontmercy  I  intend  to  pay  you  a 
solemn  visit  of  thanks, — where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  In  this  cab,"  said  Marius. 

"  A  sign  of  opulence,"  Laigle  remarked  calmly ;  "  I  con- 
gratulate you,  for  you  have  apartments  at  nine  thousand  francs 
a  year." 

At  this  moment  Courfeyrac  came  out  of  the  cafe*. 

Marius  smiled  sadly. 


80  LES  MISERABLES. 

"  I  have  been  in  this  lodging  for  two  hours,  and  am  eager  to 
leave  it,  but  I  do  not  know  where  to  go." 

"  Come  home  with  me,"  Courfeyrac  said  to  him. 

"I  ought  to  have  the  priority,"  Laigle  observed,  "but  then 
I  have  no  home." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Bossuet,"  Courfeyrac  remarked. 

"  Bossuet,"  said  Marius,  "  why  you  told  me  your  name  was 
Laigle." 

"  Of  Meaux,"  Laigle  answered,  "  metaphorically  Bossuet." 

Courfeyrac  got  into  the  cab. 

"  Hotel  de  la  Porte  St.  Jacques,  driver,"  he  said. 

The  same  evening,  Marius  was  installed  in  a  room  in  this 
house,  next  door  to  Courfeyrac. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MARIUS   IS   ASTONISHED. 

IN  a  few  days  Marius  was  a  friend  of  Courfeyrac,  for  youth 
is  the  season  of  prompt  weldings  and  rapid  cicatrizations. 
Marius  by  the  side  of  Courfeyrac  breathed  freely,  a  great  nov- 
elty for  him.  Courfeyrac  asked  him  no  questions,  and  did  not 
even  think  of  doing  so,  for  at  that  age  faces  tell  everything  at 
once,  and  words  are  unnecessary.  There  are  some  young  men 
of  whose  countenances  you  may  say  that  they  gossip, — you 
look  at  them  and  know  them. 

One  morning,  however,  Courfeyrac  suddenly  asked  him  the 
question, — 

"  By  the  way,  have  you  any  political  opinion  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  "  said  Marius,  almost  offended  by  the  question. 

"  What  are  you  ?  " 

"  Bonapartist — democrat." 

"  The  gray  color  of  the  reassured  mouse,"  Courfeyrac  re- 
marked. 

On  the  next  day  he  led  Marius  to  the  Cafe  Musain,  and 
whispered  in  his  ear  with  a  smile,  "  I  must  introduce  you  to 
the  Revolution,"  and  he  led  him  to  the  room  of  the  Friends  of 
the  A.  B.  C,  He  introduced  him  to  his  companions,  saying 
in  a  low  voice,  "  a  pupil,"  which  Marius  did  not  at  all  compre- 
hend. Marius  had  fallen  into  a  mental  wasps'  nest,  but  though 
he  was  silent  and  grave,  he  was  not  the  less  winged  and  armed. 

Marius,  hitherto  solitary,  and  muttering  soliloquies  and  asides 


MARIUS.  8 1 

through  habit  and  taste,  was  somewhat  startled  by  the  swarm 
of  young  men  around  him.  The  tumultuous  movement  of  all 
these  minds  at  liberty  and  at  work  made  his  ideas  whirl,  and 
at  times,  in  his  confusion,  they  flew  so  far  from  him  that 
he  had  a  difficulty  in  finding  them  again.  He  heard  philosophy, 
literature,  art,  history,  and  religion  spoken  of  in  an  unexpected 
way  ;  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  strange  aspects,  and  as  he  did 
not  place  them  in  perspective,  he  was  not  sure  that  he  was  not 
gazing  at  chaos.  On  giving  up  his  grandfather's  opinions  for 
those  of  his  father,  he  believed  himself  settled  ;  but  he  now 
suspected,  anxiously,  and  not  daring  to  confess  it  to  himself, 
that  it  was  not  so.  The  angle  in  which  he  looked  at  every 
thing  was  beginning  to  be  displaced  afresh,  and  a  certain  oscil- 
lation shook  all  the  horizons  of  his  brain.  It  was  a  strange  in- 
ternal moving  of  furniture,  and  it  almost  made  him  ill. 

It  seemed  as  if  there  were  no  "  sacred  things "  for  these 
young  men,  and  Marius  heard  singular  remarks  about  all  sorts 
of  matters  which  were  offensive  to  his  still  timid  mind. 

A  play-bill  came  under  notice,  adorned  with  the  title  of  an  old 
stock  tragedy,  of  the  so-called  classical  school.  "  Down  with 
the  tragedy  dear  to  the  bourgeois !  "  Bahorel  shouted,  and 
Marius  heard  Combeferre  reply, — 

"You  are  wrong,  Bahorel.  The  cits  love  tragedy,  and  they 
must  be  left  at  peace  upon  that  point.  Periwigged  tragedy  lias 
a  motive,  and  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  for  love  of  ./Eschylus 
contests  its  right  to  exist.  There  are  sketches  in  nature  and 
ready-made  parodies  in  creation  ;  a  beak  which  is  no  beak, 
wings  which  are  no  wings,  gills  which  are  no  gills,  feet  which 
are  no  feet,  a  dolorous  cry  which  makes  you  inclined 
to  laugh — there  you  have  the  duck.  Now,  since  poultry  exist 
by  the  side  of  the  bird,  I  do  not  see  why  classic  tragedy  should 
not  exist  face  to  face  with  ancient  tragedy." 

Or  else  it  happened  accidentally  that  Marius  passed  along 
the  Rue  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  between  Enjolras  and  Cour- 
feyrac,  and  the  latter  seized  his  arm. 

"  Pay  attention !  this  is  the  Rue  Plutriere,  now  called  Rue 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  on  account  of  a  singular  family  that 
lived  here  sixty  years  back,  and  they  were  Jean  Jacques  and 
Therese.  From  time  to  timeJittle  creatures  were  born  ;  Therdse 
fondled  them,  and  Jean  Jacques  took  them  to  the  Foundling." 

And  Enjolras  reproved  Courfeyrac. 

"  Silence  before  Jean  Jacques !  for  I  admire  that  man.     I 
grant   that   he   abandoned   his   children,    but  he  adopted  the 
people." 
6 


82  LES   MISERABLES. 

Not  one  of  these  young  men  ever  uttered  the  words, — the 
emperor ;  Jean  Prouvaire  alone  sometimes  said  Napoleon  ;  all 
the  rest  spoke  of  Bonaparte.  Enjolras  pronounced  it  Buona- 
parte. 

Marius  was  vaguely  astonished — it  was  initlum  sapientice. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  BACK  ROOM  OF  THE  CAFE  MUSAIN. 

ONE  of  the  conversations  among  the  young  men  at  which 
Marius  was  present,  and  in  which  he  mingled  now  and  then, 
was  a  thorough  shock  for  his  mind. 

It  came  off  in  the  back  room  of  the  Cafe  Musain  and  nearly 
all  the  friends  of  the  A.  B.  C.  were  collected  on  that  occasion, 
and  the  chandelier  was  solemnly  lighted.  They  talked  about 
one  thing  and  another,  without  passion  and  with  noise,  and  with 
the  exception  of  Enjolras  and  Marius,  who  were  silent ;  each 
harangued  somewhat  hap-hazard.  Conversations  among  chums 
at  times  display  these  peaceful  tumults.  It  was  a  game  and  a 
pell-mell  as  much  as  a  conversation ;  words  were  thrown  and 
caught  up,  and  students  were  talking  in  all  the  four  corners. 

No  female  was  admitted  into  this  back  room,  excepting 
Louison,  the  washer-up  of  cups,  who  crossed  it  from  time  to 
time  to  go  from  the  wash-house  to  the  "  laboratory." 

Grantaire,  who  was  frightfully  intoxicated,  was  deafening 
the  corner  he  had  seized  upon,  by  shouting  things,  reasonable 
and  unreasonable,  in  a  thundering  voice : — 

"  I  am  thirsty,  mortals,  I  have  dreamt  that  the  tun  of  Hei- 
delberg had  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  and  that  I  was  one  of  the  dozen 
leeches  applied  to  it.  I  want  to  drink,  for  I  desire  to  forgot 
life.  Life  is  a  hideous  invention  of  somebody  whom  I  am  un- 
acquainted with.  It  lasts  no  time  and  is  worth  nothing,  and  a 
man  breaks  his  neck  to  live.  Life  is  a  scenery  in  which  there  are 
no  practicables,  and  happiness  is  an  old  side-scene  only  painted 
on  one  side.  The  Ecclesiastes  says,  All  is  vanity,  and  I  agrey 
with  the  worthy  gentleman,  who  possibly  never  existed.  Zero, 
not  liking  to  go  about  naked,  clothed  itself  in  vanity.  Oh 
vanity !  the  dressing  up  of  every  thing  in  big  words  !  A  kitchen 
is  a  laboratory,  a  dancer  a  professor,  a  mountebank  a  gymnast, 
a  boxer  a  pugilist,  an  apothecary  a  chemist,  a  barber  an  artist, 
ft  bricklayer  an  architect,  a  jockey  a  sportsman,  and  a  wood- 


MARIUS.  83 

louse  a  pterygibranch.  Vanity  has  an  obverse  and  a  reverse ; 
the  obverse  is  stupid, — it  is  the  negro  with  liis  glass-beads  :  the 
reverse  is  ridiculous, — it  is  the  philosopher  in  his  rags.  I 
weep  over  the  one  and  laugh  at  the  other.  What  are  called 
horrors  and  disasters,  and  even  horror  and  dignity  are  generally 
made  of  mosaic.  Kings  make  a  toy  of  human  pride,  Caligula 
made  a  horse  a  consul,  and  Charles  II.  knighted  a  sirloin  of 
beef.  Drape  yourselves,  therefore,  between  Incitatus  Consul 
and  Sir  Roastbeef.  As  to  the  intrinsic  value  of  people,  it  is 
not  one  bit  more  respectable  ;  just  listen  to  the  panegyric  which 
one  neighbor  makes  of  another.  White  upon  white  is  fero- 
cious. If  the  lily  could  talk,  how  it  would  rundown  the  dove; 
and  a  bigoted  woman  talking  of  a  pious  woman  is  more  venom- 
ous then  the  asp  and  the  whip-snake.  It  is  a  pity  that  I  am  an 
ignoramus,  for  I  would  quote  a  multitude  of  things,  but  I 
know  nothing.  But  for  all  that  I  have  always  had  sense ; 
when  I  was  a  pupil  of  Gros,  instead  of  daubing  sketches,  I 
spent  my  time  in  prigging  apples.  So  much  for  myself,  but 
you  others  are  as  good  as  I,  and  I  would  not  give  a  dump  for 
your  perfections,  excellency,  and  qualities,  for  every  quality 
has  its  corresponding  defect.  The  saving  man  is  akin  to  the 
miser,  the  generous  man  is  very  nearly  related  to  the  prodigal, 
and  the  brave  man  trenches  on  the  braggart.  When  you  call 
a  man  very  pious,  you  mean  that  he  is  a  little  bigoted,  and  there 
are  just  as  many  vices  in  virtue  as  there  are  holes  in  the  mantle 
of  Diogenes.  Which  do  you  admire,  the  killed  or  the  killer, 
Caesar  or  Brutus  ?  People  generally  stick  up  for  the  killer ; 
Long  live  Brutus  !  for  he  was  a  murderer.  Such  is  virtue  ;  it 
may  be  virtue,  but  it  is  folly  at  the  same  time.  There  are 
some  queer  spots  on  these  great  men  ;  the  Brutus  who  killed 
Caesar  was  in  love  with  the  statue  of  a  boy.  This  statue  was 
made  by  the  Greek  sculptor  Strongylion,  who  also  produced 
that  figure  of  an  Amazon  called  Finelegs,  Euchnemys,  which 
Nero  carried  about  with  him  when  travelling.  This  Strongy- 
lion only  left  two  statues,  which  brought  Brutus  and  Nero  into 
harmony  ;  Brutus  was  in  love  with  one  and  Nero  with  the  other. 
History  is  but  one  long  repetition,  and  one  century  is  a  pla- 
giarism of  another.  The  battle  of  Marengo  is  a  copy  of  the 
battle  of  Pydna,  and  the  Tolbiac  of  Clovis  and  the  Austerlitz 
of  Napoleon  are  as  much  alike  as  two  drops  of  blood.  I  set 
but  little  value  on  victory  ;  nothing  is  so  stupid  as  conquering, 
and  the  true  glory  is  convincing.  But  try  to  prove  any  thing ! 
you  satisfy  yourself  with  success,  what  mediocrity !  and  with 
conquering,  what  a  wretched  trifle !  Alas  !  vanity  and  covr- 


84  LES  MISERABLES. 

ardice  are  everywhere,  and  every  thing  obeys  success,  even 
grammar.  Si  volet  usus,  as  Horace  says.  Hence  I  despise  the 
whole  human  race.  Suppose  we  descend  from  universals  to 
particulars  ?  would  you  wish  me  to  begin  admiring  the  peoples  ? 
what  people,  if  you  please  ?  is  it  Greece  ?-— the  Athenians  ? 
The  Parisians  of  former  time  killed  Phocion,  as  you  might  say 
Coligny,  and  adulated  tyrants  to  such  a  pitch  that  Anacephorus 
said  of  Pisistratus,  '  his  urine  attracts  the  bees.'  The  most 
considerable  man  in  Greece  for  fifty  years  was  the  grammarian 
Philetas,  who  was  so  short  and  small  that  he  was  obliged  to 
put  lead  in  his  shoes  to  keep  the  wind  from  blowing  him  away. 
On  the  great  square  of  Corinth  there  was  a  statue  sculptured 
by  Selamon,  and  catalogued  by  Pliny,  and  it  represented 
Episthatus.  What  did  Episthatus  achieve  !  He  invented  the 
cross-buttock.  There  you  have  a  summary  of  Greece  and  glory, 
and  now  let  us  pass  to  others.  Should  I  admire  England  ? 
should  I  admire  France  ?  France,  why  ?  on  account  of  Paris  ? 
I  have  just  told  you  my  opinion  of  the  Athenians.  England, 
why?  on  account  of  London?  I  hate  Carthage,  and,  besides, 
London,  the  metropolis  of  luxury,  is  the  head-quarters  of  mis- 
ery :  in  Charing  Cross  parish  alone  one  hundred  persons  die 
annually  of  starvation.  Such  is  Albion,  and  I  will  add,  as 
crowning  point,  that  I  have  seen  an  English  woman  dancing 
in  a  wreath  of  roses  and  with  blue  spectacles.  So,  a  groan 
for  England.  If  I  do  not  admire  John  Bull,  ought  I  to  admire 
brother  Jonathan  with  his  peculiar  institution  ?  Take  away 
'  Time  is  money,'  and  what  remains  of  England  ?  take  away 
'  Cotton  is  king,'  and  what  remains  of  America?  Germany  is 
lymph  and  Italy  bile.  Shall  we  go  into  ecstacies  about  Russia? 
Voltaire  admired  that  country,  and  he  also  admired  China.  I 
allow  that  Russia  has  its  beauties,  among  others  a  powerful 
despotism  ;  but  I  pity  the  despots,  for  they  have  a  delicate 
health.  An  Alexis  decapitated,  a  Peter  stabbed,  a  Paul 
strangled,  another  Paul  flattened  out  with  boot-heels,  sundry 
Ivans  butchered,  several  Nicholases  and  Basils  poisoned — all 
this  proves  that  the  palace  of  the  emperor  of  Russia  is  in  a 
flagrantly  unhealthy  condition.  All  the  civilized  nations  offer 
to  the  admiration  of  the  thinker  one  detail,  war :  now,  war, 
civilized  war,  exhausts  and  collects  all  the  forms  of  banditism, 
from  the  brigandages  of  the  trabuceros  in  the  gorges  of  Mont 
Jaxa  down  to  the  forays  of  the  Comanche  Indians  in  the 
Doubtful  Pass.  Stuff,  you  will  say  to  me,  Europe  is  better 
than  Asia  after  all.  I  allow  that  Asia  is  absurd,  but  I  do  not 
exactly  see  what  cause  you  have  to  laugh  at  the  grand  lama, 


MARIUS.  85 

you  great  western  nations,  who  have  blended  with  your  fashions 
mid  elegances  all  the  complicated  filth  of  majesty,  from  the 
dirty  chemise  of  Queen  Isabella  down  to  the  chaise-percee  of 
the  dauphin.  At  Brussels  the  most  beer  is  consumed,  at 
Stockholm  the  most  brandy,  at  Madrid  the  most  chocolate,  at 
Amsterdam  the  most  gin,  at  London  the  most  wine,  at  Con- 
stantinople the  most  coffee,  and  at  Paris  the  most  absinthe, — 
these  are  all  useful  notions.  Paris,  after  all,  bears  away  the 
bell,  for  in  that  city  the  very  rag-pickers  are  sybarites  :  and 
Diogenes  would  have  soon  have  been  a  rag-picker  on  the  Place 
Maubert  as  a  philosopher  at  the  Piraeus.  Learn  this  fact  also: 
the  wine-shops  of  the  rag-pickers  are  called  '  bibines,'  and  the 
most  celebrated  are  the  Casserole  and  the  Abattoir.  Oh,  wine- 
shops of  the  rag-pickers,  cavaransarais  for  caliphs,  I  call  you 
to  witness.  I  am  a  voluptuary.  I  dine  at  Richard's  for  fifty 
sous,  and  I  want  Persian  carpets  in  which  to  roll  the  naked 
Cleopatra.  "Where  is  Cleopatra  ?  ah,  -it  is  you,  Louison  ? 
Good  evening." 

Thus  poured  forth  Grantaire,  more  than  drunk,  as  he  seized 
the  plate-washer  as  she  passed  his  corner. 

Bossuet,  stretching  out  his  hand  toward  him,  strove  to  make 
him  be  silent,  but  Grantaire  broke  out  afresh. 

"Eagle  of  Meaux,  down  with  your  paws;  you  produce  no 
effect  upon  me  with  your  gesture  of  Hippocrates  refusing  the 
brie  a  brae  of  Artaxerxes.  You  need  not  attempt  to  calm  me, 
and  besides  I  am  melancholy.  "What  would  you  have  me 
say  ?  man  is  bad,  man  is  a  deformity ;  the  butterfly  is  a 
success,  but  man  a  mistake.  God  made  a  failure  with  that 
animal.  A  crowd  is  a  choice  of  uglinesses  :  the  first  comer  is 
a  scoundrel,  and  woman  rhymes  with  human  ;  yes,  I  have  the 
spleen,  complicated  with  melancholy,  home-sickness,  and  a 
dash  of  hypochondria,  and  I  rage,  and  I  yawn,  and  I  am  kill- 
ing myself,  and  I  feel  horribly  dull." 

"  Silence,  Big  R,"  Bossuet  remarked  again,  who  was  dis- 
cussing a  legal  point  with  some  chums,  and  was  sunk  to  his 
waist  in  a  sentence  of  judicial  slang,  of  which  the  following  is 
the  end. 

"  For  my  part,  although  I  am  scarce  an  authority,  and  at 
the  most  an  amateur  lawyer,  I  assert  this,  that :  according  to 
the  terms  of  the  customs  of  Normandy,  upon  the  Michaelmas 
day  and  in  every  year  an  equivalent  must  be  paid  to  the  lord 
of  the  manor,  by  all  and  singular,  both  by  landowners  and 
tenants,  and  that  for  every  freehold,  copyhold,  allodium, 
mortgage — " 


86  LES  MISERABLES. 

"  Echo,  plaintive  nymph  !  "     Grantaire  hummed. 

Close   to  Grantaire,  at  an  almost  silent  table,  a  quire  of 
paper,  an  inkstand,  and  a  pen  between  two  small  glasses  an 
nounced  that  a  farce  was  being  sketched  out.     This  great  af- 
fair was  discussed  in  a  low  voice,  and  the  heads  of  the  workers 
almost  touched. 

"  Let  us  begin  with  the  names,  for  when  you  have  the  names 
you  have  the  plot." 

"  That  is  true  :  dictate,  and  I  will  write." 

"  Monsieur  Dorimon  ?  " 

"  An  annuitant  ?  " 

"  Of  course.     His  daughter  Celestine." 

" Tine.     Who  next  ?  " 

"  Colonel  Sainval." 

"  Sainval  is  worn  out.     Say  Valsin." 

By  the  side  of  these  theatrical  aspirants  another  group, 
which  also  took  advantage  of  the  noise  to  talk  low,  were  dis- 
cussing a  duel.  An  old  student  of  thirty  was  advising  a 
young  man  of  eighteen,  and  explaining  with  what  sort  of  ad- 
versary he  had  to  deal. 

•  "  Hang  it !  you  will  have  to  be  careful,  for  he  is  a  splendid 
swordsman.  He  can  attack,  makes  no  useless  feints,  has  a 
strong  wrist,  brilliancy,  and  mathematical  parries.  And  then 
he  is  left-handed." 

In  the  corner  opposite  to  Grantaire,  Joly  and  Bahorel  were 
playing  at  dominoes  and  talking  of  love  affairs. 

"  You  are  happy,"  said  Joly,  "  you  have  a  mistress  who  is 
always  laughing." 

"It  is  a  fault  she  commits,"  Bahorel  answered;  "a  man's 
mistress  does  wrong  to  laugh,  for  it  encourages  him  to  deceive 
her,  for  seeing  her  gay  saves  you  from  remorse.  If  you  see 
her  sad  you  have  scruples  of  conscience." 

"  Ungrateful  man  !  a  woman  who  laughs  is  so  nice,  and  you 
never  quarrel." 

"  That  results  from  the  treaty  we  made ;  on  forming  our 
little  holy  alliance,  we  gave  each  other  a  frontier  which  we 
never  step  beyond.  Hence  cbmes  peace." 

"Peace  is  digesting  happiness." 

u  And  you,  Joly,  how  does  your  quarrel  stand  with  Mam'- 
selle — you  know  whom  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  still  sulks  with  a  cruel  patience." 

"  And  yet  you  are  a  lover  of  most  touching  thinness." 

"  Alas !  " 

"  In  your  place,  I  would  leave  her." 


MARIUS.  87 

"  It's  easy  to  say  that." 

"  And  to  do.     Is  not  her  name  Musichetta  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ah !  my  dear  Bahorel,  she  is  a  superb  girl,  very 
literary,  with  little  hands  and  feet,  dresses  with  taste,  is  white 
and  plump,  and  has  eyes  like  a  gypsy  fortune-teller.  I  am 
wild  about  her." 

In  the  third  corner  a  poetical  discussion  was  going  on,  and 
Pagan  Mythology  was  quarrelling  with  Christian  Mythology. 
The  point  was  Olympus,  whose  defence  Jean  Prouvaire  under- 
took through  his  romantic  nature.  Jean  Prouvaire  was  only 
timid  when  in  repose ;  once  excited,  he  broke  out  in  a  species 
of  gayety,  accentuated  his  enthusiasm,  and  he  was  at  once 
laughing  and  lyrical. 

"  Let  us  not  insult  the  gods,"  he  said,  "  for  perhaps  they 
have  not  all  departed,  and  Jupiter  does  not  produce  the  effect 
of  a  dead  man  upon  me.  The  gods  are  dreams  you  say  ;  well, 
even  in  nature  such  as  it  is  at  the  present  day,  and  after  the 
flight  of  these  dreams,  we  find  again  all  the  old  Pagan  myths. 
A  mountain  with  the  profile  of  a  citadel,  like  the  Vignemale, 
for  instance,  is  still  for  me  the  head-dress  of  Cybele.  It  has 
not  yet  been  proved  to  me  that  Pan  does  not  come  at  night  to 
whistle  in  the  hollow  trunks  of  the  willows,  while  stopping 
their  holes  with  his  fingers  in  turn,  and  I  have  ever  believed 
that  he  had  some  connection  with  the  cascade  of  Pissevache." 

In  the  last  corner  politics  were  being  discussed,  and  the 
Conceded  Charter  was  pulled  to  pieces.  Combeferre  supported 
it  feebly,  while  Courfeyrac  attacked  it  energetically.  There 
was  on  the  table  an  unlucky  copy  of  the  Charte  Touquet. 
Courfeyrac  had  seized  it,  and  was  shaking  it,  mixing  with  his 
argument  the  rustling  of  this  sheet  of  paper. 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  do  not  want  kings  ;  even  from  the 
economic  point  of  view  alone  I  do  not  want  them,  for  a  king  is 
a  parasite,  and  there  are  no  gratis  monarchs.  Listen  to  this, 
kings  are  an  expensive  luxury.  On  the  death  of  Francis  I. 
the  public  debt  of  France  was  thirty  thousand  livres,  on  the 
death  of  Louis  XIV.  it  was  two  milliards  six  hundred  millions, 
at  twenty-eight  livres  the  marc,  which  in  1740  was  equivalent, 
according  to  Desmarets,  to  four  milliards  five  hundred  millions, 
and  at  the  present  day  would  be  equal  to  twelve  milliards.  In 
the  second  place,  no  offence  to  Combeferre,  a  conceded  charter 
is  a  bad  expedient  of  civilization,  for  saving  the  transaction, 
softening  the  passage,  deadening  the  shock,  making  the  nation 
pass  insensibly  from  monarchy  to  democracy  by  the  practice 
gf  constitutional  fictions — all  these  are  detestable  fictions, 


88  LES   MISERABLES. 

No,  no,  let  us  never  give  the  people  a  false  light,  and  princi- 
ples pine  and  grow  pale  in  your  constitutional  cellar.  No 
bastardizing,  no  compromise,  no  concession,  from  a  king  to 
people  !  In  all  these  concessions  there  is  an  Article  XIV., 
and  by  the  side  of  the  hand  that  gives  is  the  claw  that  takes 
back  again.  I  distinctly  refuse  yoiir  charter,  for  a  charter  is  a 
mask,  and  there  is  falsehood  behind  it.  A  people  that  accepts 
a  charter  abdicates,  and  right  is  only  right  when  entire.  No 
charter,  then,  I  say." 

It  was  winter  time,  and  two  logs  were  crackling  on  the 
hearth  ;  this  was  tempting,  and  Courfeyrac  did  not  resist.  He 
crumbled  up  the  poor  Charte  Touquet  and  threw  it  in  the  fire, 
— the  paper  blazed,  and  Combeferre  philosophically  watched 
the  masterpiece  of  Louis  XVIII.  burning,  contenting  himself 
with  saying, — 

"  The  charter  metamorphosed  into  flame." 

And  sarcasms,  sallies,  jots,  that  French  thing  which  is  called 
entrain,  that  English  thing  which  is  called  humor,  good  taste 
and  bad  sound  and  unsound  reasoning,  all  the  rockets  of  dia- 
logue, ascending  together  and  crossing  each  other  in  all  parts 
of  the  room,  produced  above  their  heads  a  species  of  merry 
explosion. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  HORIZON. 

THE  collision  of  young  minds  has  this  admirable  thing  about 
it,  that  the  spark  can  never  be  foreseen  or  the  lightning  divined. 
What  will  shoot  forth  presently?  no  one  knows.  The  burst  of 
laughter  is  heard,  and  at  the  next  moment  seriousness  makes 
its  entrance. 

A  stern  thought,  which  strangely  issued  from  a  clash  of 
words,  suddenly  flashed  through  the  medley  in  which  Grantaire, 
Bahorel,  Prouvaire,  Bossuet,  Combeferre,  and  Courfeyrac  were 
blindly  slashing  and  pointing. 

How  is  it  that  a  phrase  suddenly  springs  up  in  conversation, 
and  underlines  itself  at  once  in  the  attention  of  those  who  trace 
it  ?  as  we  have  just  said,  no  one  knows.  In  the  midst  of  the 
the  general  confusion  Bossuet  concluded  some  remark  he  made 
to  Combeferre  with  the  date,  "  June  18,  1815,  Waterloo." 

Aj  this  name  of  Waterloo,  Marius,  who  had  been  leaning 


MARIUS.  89 

over  a  glass  of  water,  removed  his  hand  from  under  his  chin, 
and  began  looking  intently  at  the  company. 

"  Pardieu  ! "  Courfeyrac  exclaimed  (Parbku  at  this  period 
was  beginning  to  grow  out  of  fashion).  "  That  number  eighteen 
is  strange,  and  strikes  me,  for  it  is  Bonaparte's  fatal  number. 
Place  Louis  before  and  Brumaire  behind,  and  you  have  the 
man's  whole  destiny,  with  this  expressive  peculiarity,  that  the 
beginning  has  its  heel  gybed  by  the  end." 

Enjolras,  who  had  hitherto  been  dumb,  now  broke  the  si- 
lence, and  said, — 

"  Courfeyrac,  you  mean  that  the  crime  is  urged  by  the  ex- 
piation." 

This  word  crime  exceeded  the  measure  which  Marius,  who 
was  already  greatly  affected  by  this  sudden  reference  to  Wa- 
terloo, could  accept. 

He  rose,  walked  slowly  to  the  map  of  France  hanging  on  the 
wall,  on  the  bottom  of  which  could  be  seen  an  island  in  a  sepa- 
rate compartment ;  he  placed  his  finger  on  this  and  said, — 

"  Corsica,  a  small  island,  which  made  France  very  great. 

This  was  the  breath  of  frozen  air ;  all  broke  off,  for  they  felt 
that  something  was  about  to  begin. 

Bahorel,  who  was  assuming  a  victorious  attitude  in  answer- 
ing Bossuet,  gave  it  up  in  order  to  listen  ;  and  Enjolras,  whose 
blue  eye  was  fixed  on  no  one  and  seemed  to  be  examining  space, 
answered  without  looking  at  Marius, — 

"  France  requires  no  Corsica  to  be  great.  France  is  great 
because  she  is  France  quia  nominor  leo." 

Marius  felt  no  desire  to  give  way  ;  he  turned  to  Enjolras, 
and  his  voice  had  a  strange  vibration,  produced  by  his  internal 
emotion. 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  diminish  France  ;  but  it  is  not 
diminishing  her  to  amalgamate  Napoleon  with  her.  Come,  let  us 
talk,  I  am  a  new-comer  among  you,  but  I  confess  that  you 
astonish  me.  Where  are  we  ?  who  are  we  ?  who  are  you  ? 
who  am  I  ?  Let  us  come  to  an  understanding  about  the  em- 
peror. I  hear  you  call  him  Buonaparte,  laying  a  stress  on  the  N, 
like  the  royalists,  but  I  must  tell  you  that  my  grandfather  does 
better  still,  for  he  says,  '  Buonaparte.'  I  fancied  you  young 
men,  but  where  do  you  keep  your  enthusiasm,  and  what  do  you 
do  with  it?  whom  do  you  admire,  if  it  is  not  the  emperor?  and 
what  more  do  you  want  ?  if  you  will  not  have  that  great  man, 
what  great  man  would  you  have  ?  He  had  every  thing,  he  was 
complete,  and  in  his  brain  was  the  cube  of  human  faculties. 
He  made  codes  like  Justinian,  and  dictated  like  Caesar ;  his  con. 


90  LES   MISERABLES. 

versation  blended  the  lightning  of  Pascal  with  the  thunder  of 
Tacitus ;  he  made  history  and  wrote  it,  and  his  bulletins  are 
Iliads  ;  he  combined  the  figures  of  Newton  with  the  metaphor 
of  Mahomet.  He  left  behind  him  in  the  East  words  great  as 
the  Pyramids,  at  Tilsit  he  taught  majesty  to  emperors,  at  the 
Academy  of  Sciences  he  answered  Laplace,  at  the  Council  of 
State  he  held  his  own  against  Merlin,  he  gave  a  soul  to  the 
geometry  of  one  and  to  the  sophistry  of  others,  for  he  was  a 
legist  with  the  lawyers,  a  sidereal  with  the  astronomers.  Like 
Cromwell,  blowing  out  one  of  two  candles,  he  went  to  the 
Temple  to  bargain  for  a  curtain  tassel  ;  he  saw  every  thing, 
knew  every  thing,  but  that  did  not  prevent  him  from 
laughing  heartily  by  the  cradle  of  his  newborn  son.  And,  all 
at  once,  startled  Europe  listened,  armies  set  out,  parks  of  artil- 
lery rolled  along,  bridges  of  boats  were  thrown  over  rivers, 
clouds  of  cavalry  galloped  in  the  hurricane,  and  shouts,  bugles, 
and  the  crashing  of  thrones  could  be  heard  all  around.  The 
frontiers  of  kingdoms  oscillated  on  the  map,  the  sound  of  a  su- 
perhuman sword  being  drawn  from  its  scabbard  could  be  heard, 
and  he  was  seen,  standing  erect  on  the  horizon,  with  a  gleam 
in  his  hand,  and  a  splendor  in  his  eyes,  opening  in  the  thunder 
his  two  wings,  the  grand  army  and  the  Old  Guard.  He  was 
the  archangel  of  war." 

All  were  silent,  and  Enjolras  hung  his  head.  Silence  always 
produces  to  some  extent  the  effect  of  acquiescence,  or  a  species 
of  setting  the  back  against  the  wall.  Marius,  almost  without 
drawing  breath,  continued  with  increased  enthusiasm, — 

"  Let  us  be  just,  my  friends!  What  a  splendid  destiny  it  is 
for  a  people  to  be  the  empire  of  such  an  emperor,  when  that 
people  is  France  and  adds  its  genius  to  the  genius  of  that  man  ! 
To  appear  and  reign ;  to  march  and  triumph  ;  to  have  as 
bivouacs  every  capital ;  to  select  grenadiers  and  make  kings  of 
them ;  to  decree  the  downfall  of  dynasties ;  to  transfigure 
Europe  at  double  quick  step  ;  to  feel  when  you  threaten  that 
you  lay  your  hand  on  the  sword-hilt  of  God  ;  to  follow  in  one  man 
Hannibal,  Caesar  and  Charlemagne  ;  to  be  the  people  of  a  ruler 
who  accompanies  your  every  day-break  with  the  brilliant  an- 
nouncement of  a  battle  gained  ;  to  be  aroused  in  the  morning 
by  the  guns  of  the  Invalides ;  to  cast  into  the  abysses  of  light 
prodigious  words  which  are  eternally  luminous, — Marengo,  Ar- 
cola,  Austerlitz,  Jena,  and  Wagram  ! — to  produce  at  each  mo- 
ment on  the  zenith  of  centuries  constellations  of  victories ;  to 
make  the  French  emperor  a  pendant  of  the  Roman  empire  ;  to 
be  the  great  nation^  a.nd  give  birth  to  the  great  army ;  to  send 


MARIUS.  91 

legions  all  over  the  world,  as  the  mountain  sends  its  eagles 
in  all  directions  to  conquer,  rule,  and  crush  ;  to  be  in  Europe  a 
people  gilt  by  glory  ;  to  sound  a  Titanic  flourish  of  trumpets 
through  history  ;  to  conquer  the  world  twice,  by  conquest  and 
by  amazement— all  this  is  sublime,  and  what  is  there  greater  ?  " 

"  To  be  free,"  said  Combeferre. 

Marius  in  his  turn  hung  his  head.  This  simple  and  cold  re- 
mark had  traversed  his  epical  effusion  like  a  steel  blade,  and  he 
felt  it  fainting  away  within  him.  When  he  raised  his  eyes, 
Combeferre  was  no  longer  present ;  probably  satisfied  with  his 
reply  to  the  apotheosis,  he  had  left  the  room,  And  all,  excepting 
Enjolras,  had  followed  him.  Enjolras,  alone  with  Marius,  was 
looking  at  him  gravely.  Marius,  however,  having  slightly  col- 
lected his  ideas,  did  not  confess  himself  defeated,  and  he  was 
in  all  probability  about  to  begin  afresh  upon  Enjolras,  when  he 
suddenly  heard  some  one  singing  on  the  staircase.  It  was 
Combeferre,  and  this  is  what  he  sung : 

"  Si  Ce"sar  m'avait  donn6 
La  gloire  efc  la  guerre, 
Et  qu'il  me  faMfc  quitter 
L'amour  de  ma  mere, 
Je  diraia  au  grand  C6sar. 
Keprends  ton  sceptre  et  ton  char, 
J'aime  mieux  ma  mere,  6  gue  ! 
J'aime  mieux  ma  mere  !  " 

The  tender  and  solemn  accent  with  which  Combeferre  sang 
this  couplet  imparted  to  it  a  species  of  strange  grandeur.  Ma- 
rius, with  his  eye  pensively  fixed  on  the  ceiling,  repeated  al- 
most mechanically  "  my  mother  ?  " 

At  this  moment  he  felt  Enjolras'  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Citizen,"  he  said  to  him,  "  my  mother  is  the  republic." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

RES  AUGUSTA. 

THIS  evening  left  a  sad  obscurity  and  a  profound  shock  in  the 
mind  of  Marius,  and  he  felt  what  the  earth  probably  feels  when  it 
is  opened  by  the  plough-share,  that  the  grain  may  be  deposited  ; 
it  only  feels  the  wound,  and  the  joy  of  giving  birth  does  not 
arrive  till  later. 


92  LES  MISERABLE?. 

Marius  was  gloomy  ;  he  had  only  just  made  himself  a  faith, 
and  must  he  reject  it  again  ?  He  declared  to  himself  that  he  would 
not :  he  resolved  not  to  doubt,  and  began  doubting  involuntar- 
ily. To  stand  between  two  religions,  one  of  which  you  have 
not  yet  lost,  and  the  other  winch  you  have  not  yet  entered,  is  in- 
supportable, and  twilight  only  pleases  bat-like  souls.  Marius 
had  an  open  eye-ball  and  wanted  true  light  ;and  the  semi-lustre 
of  doubt  hurt  him.  Whatever  might  be  hisdesireto  remain  where 
he  was  and  cling  to  it,  he  was  invincibly  constrained  to  con- 
tinue, to  advance,  to  think,  to  go  further.  Whither  would  this 
lead  him?  He  feared  lest,  after  taking  so  many  steps  which 
had  drawn  him  near  his  father,  he  was  now  going  to  take  steps 
which  would  carry  him  away  from  him.  His  discomfort  in- 
creased with  all  the  reflections  that  occurred  to  him,  and  an  es- 
carpment became  formed  around  him.  He  agreed  neither  with 
his  grandfather  nor  his  friends  ;  he  was  daring  for  the  one 
and  behind-hand  for  the  others  ;  and  he  found  himself  doubly 
isolated,  on  the  side  of  old  age  and  on  the  side  of  youth.  He 
left  off  going  to  the  Cafe  Musain. 

In  the  troubled  state  of  his  conscience  he  did  not  think  at  all  of 
certain  serious  sides  of  existence,  but  the  realities  of  life  will 
not  allow  themselves  to  be  forgotten,  and  so  they  suddenly  came 
to  jog  his  memory. 

One  morning  the  landlord  came  into  Marius's  room,  and 
said  to  him, — 

"  Monsieur  Courfeyrac  recommended  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  I  want  my  money." 

"  Ask  Courfeyrac  to  come  and  speak  to  me,"  said  Marius. 

When  Courfeyrac  arrived  the  landlord  left  them,  and  Marius 
told  his  friend  what  he  had  not  dreamed  of  telling  him  yet, — 
that  he  was,  so  to  speak,  alone  in  the  world,  and  had  no  rela- 
tions. 

"  What  will  become  of  you  ?  "  said  Courfeyrac. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  Marius  answered. 

"  What  do  you  intend  doing  ?  " 
.  "  I  do  not  know." 

"  Have  you  any  money  ?  " 

"  Fifteen  francs." 

"  Are  you  willing  to  borrow  from  me?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Have  you  clothes  ?  " 

"  There  they  are." 

"  Any  jewelry?" 


MARIUS.  93 

"  A  gold  watch." 

"  I  know  a  second-hand  clotliesman  who  will  take  your  over- 
coat and  a  pair  of  trousers." 

"  Very  good." 

"  You  will  only  have  a  pair  of  trousers,  a  waistcoat,  a  hat, 
and  coat  left." 

"  And  my  boots." 

"  What  ?  you  will  not  go  barefoot  ?  what  opulence  I " 

"  That  will  be  enough." 

"I  know  a  jeweller  who  will  buy  your  watch." 

"  All  right." 

"  No,  it  is  not  all  right ;  what  will  you  do  after  ?  " 

"  Any  thing  I  can  that  is  honest." 

"  Do  you  know  English  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Or  German  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  All  the  worse." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  Because  a  friend  of  mine,  a  publisher,  is  preparing  a  sort 
of  Encyclopedia,  for  which  you  could  have  translated  English 
or  German  articles.  The  pay  is  bad,  but  it  is  possible  to  live 
on  it." 

"  I  will  learn  English  and  German." 

"  And  in  the  meanwhile  ?  " 

"  I  will  eat  my  clothes  and  my  watch." 

The  clothes-dealer  was  sent  for,  and  gave  twenty  francs  for 
the  coat  and  trousers ;  next  they  went  to  the  jeweller's,  who 
bought  the  watch  for  forty-five  francs. 

"  That's  not  so  bad,"  said  Marius  to  Courfeyac,  on  return- 
ing to  the  hotel ;  "  with  my  fifteen  francs  that  makes  eighty." 

"  And  your  bill  here?  "  Courfeyrac  observed. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  that,"  said  Marius. 

The  landlord  presented  his  bill,  which  Marius  was  bound  to 
pay  at  once  ;  it  amounted  to  seventy  francs. 

"  I  have  ten  francs  left,"  said  Marius. 

"  The  deuce,"  Courfeyac  replied ;  "  you  will  spend  five 
francs  while  learning  English,  and  five  while  learning  German. 
That  will  be  swallowing  a  language  very  quickly,  or  a  five 
franc-piece  very  slowly." 

Aunt  Gillenormand,  who  was  not  a  bad-hearted  woman  in 
sad  circumstances,  discovered  her  nephew's  abode ;  and  one 
morning,  when  Marius  returned  from  college,  he  found  a  let« 


94  LES   MISERABLES. 

ter  from  his  aunt  and  the  "sixty  pistoles,"  that  is  to  say,  six 
hundred  francs  in  gold,  in  a  sealed-up  box. 

Marius  sent  the  thirty  louis  back  to  his  aunt  with  a  re- 
spectful note,  in  which  he  stated  that  he  would  be  able  in 
future  to  take  care  of  himself — at  that  moment  he  had  just 
three  francs  left. 

The  aunt  did  not  tell  grand-papa  of  this  refusal,  through  fear 
of  raising  his  exasperation  to  the  highest  pilch;  besides,  had 
he  not  said,  "Never  mention  that  blood-drinker's  name  in  my 
presence." 

Marius  quitted  the  hotel  of  the  Porte  St.  Jacques,  as  he  did 
not  wish  to  run  into  debt. 


MARIUS.  95 


BOOK  FIFTH. 


THE  EXCELLENCE  OF  MISFORTUNE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MARIUS    IS   INDIGENT. 

LIFE  became  severe  for  Marius ;  eating  his  clothes  and  his 
watch  was  nothing,  but  he  also  went  through  that  indescrib- 
able course  which  is  called  "  champing  the  bit."  This  is  a 
horrible  thing  which  contains  lays  without  bread,  nights  with- 
out sleep,  evenings  without  candle,  a  house  without  fire,  weeks 
without  work,  a  future  without  hope,  a  threadbare  coat,  an  old  hat 
at  which  the  girls  laugh,  the  door  which  you  find  locked  at  night 
because  you  have  not  paid  your  rent,  the  insolence  of  the 
porter  and  the  eating-house  keeper,  the  grins  of  neighbors, 
humiliations,  dignity  trampled  under  foot,  disgust,  bitterness, 
and  desperation.  Marius  learnt  how  all  this  is  devoured,  and 
how  it  is  often  the  only  thing  which  a  man  has  to  eat.  At 
that  moment  of  life  when  a  man  requires  pride  because  he  re- 
quires love,  he  felt  himself  derided  because  he  was  meanly 
dressed,  and  ridiculous  because  he  was  poor.  At  the  age 
when  youth  swells  the  heart  with  an  imperial  pride,  he  looked 
down  more  than  once  at  his  worn-out  boots,  and  knew  the 
unjust  shame  and  burning  blushes  of  wretchedness.  It  is  an 
admirable  and  terrible  trial,  from  which  the  weak  come  forth 
infamous  and  the  strong  sublime.  It  is  the  crucible  into  which 
destiny  throws  a  man  whenever  it  wishes  to  have  a  scoundrel 
or  a  demi-god. 

For  man's  great  actions  are  performed  in  minor  struggles. 
There  are  obstinate  and  unknown  braves  who  defend  them- 
selves inch  by  inch  in  the  shadows  against  the  fatal  invasion 


9*5  LES   MISERABLES. 

oi  want  and  turpitude.  They  are  noble  and  mysterious 
triumphs  which  no  eye  sees,  no  renown  rewards,  and  no  flourish 
of  trumpets  salutes.  Life,  misfortune,  isolation,  abandonment, 
and  poverty,  are  battle-fields  which  have  their  heroes — obscure 
heroes  who  are  at  times  greater  than  illustrious  heroes. 

Firm  and  exceptional  natures  are  thus  created  :  misery 
which  is  nearly  always  a  step-mother,  is  at  times  a  mother  : 
denudation  brings  forth  the  power  of  soul  and  mind:  distress 
is  the  nurse  of  pride  and  misfortune  is  an  excellent  milk  for  the 
magnanimous. 

There  was  a  time  in  Marius's  life  when  he  swept  his  own 
landing,  when  he  bought  a  halfpenny-worth  of  Brie  cheese  of 
the  fruiterer,  when  he  waited  till  nightfall  to  go  into  the 
baker's  and  buy  a  loaf,  which  he  carried  stealthily  to  his  gar- 
ret as  if  he  had  stolen  it.  At  times  there  might  have  been 
seen  slipping  into  the  butcher's  shop  at  the  corner,  among  the 
gossiping  cooks  who  elbowed  him,  a  young  awkward  man  with 
books  under  his  arm,  who  had  a  timid  and  furious  air,  who 
on  entering  removed  his  hat  from  his  dripping  forehead,  made 
a  deep  bow  to  the  astonished  butcher's  wife,  another  to  the 
foreman,  asked  for  a  mutton-chop,  paid  three  or  four  pence, 
wrapped  the  chop  in  paper,  placed  it  between  two  books 
under  his  arm,  and  went  away.  It  was  Marius,  and  on  this 
chop,  which  he  cooked  himself,  he  lived  for  three  days. 

On  the  first  day  he  ate  the  lean,  on  the  second  he  ale  the 
fat,  and  on  the  third  he  gnawed  the  bone.  Several  times  did 
Aunt  Gillenormand  make  tentatives  and  send  him  the  sixty 
pistoles,  but  Marius  always  returned  them,  saying  that  he 
wanted  for  nothing. 

He  was  still  in  mourning  for  his  father  when  the  revolution 
we  have  described  took  place  within  him,  and  since  then  he 
had  not  left  off  black  clothes,  but  the  clothes  left  him.  A  day 
arrived  when  he  had  no  coat,  though  his  trousers  would  still 
pass  muster.  What  was  he  to  do?  Courfeyrac,  to  whom  he  on 
his  side  rendered  several  services,  gave  him  an  old  coat.  For 
thirty  sous  Marius  had  it  turned  by  some  porter,  and  it  be- 
came a  new  coat.  But  it  was  green,  and  Marius  henceforth 
did  not  go  out  till  nightfall,  which  caused  his  coat  to  appear 
black.  As  he  still  wished  to  be  in  mourning,  he  wrapped 
himself  in  the  night. 

Through  all  this  he  contrived  to  pass  his  examination.  He 
was  supposed  to  inhabit  Courfeyrac's  rooms,  which  weredecent, 
and  where  a  certain  number  of  legal  tomes,  supported  by 
broken-backed  volumes  of  novels,  represented  the  library  pre- 


MARIUS.  97 

scribed  by  the  regulations.     He  had  his  letters  addressed  to 
Courfeyrac's  lodgings. 

When  Marius  was  called  to  the  bar  he  informed  his  grand- 
father  of  the  fact  in  a  cold  letter,  which,  however,  was  full 
of  submission  and  respect.  M.  Gillenormand  took  the  letter 
with  a  trembling  hand,  read  it,  tore  it  in  four  parts,  and 
threw  them  into  the  basket.  Two  or  three  days  later,  Mile. 
Gillenormand  heard  her  father,  who  was  alone  in  his  room, 
talking  aloud,  which  always  happened  when  he  was  agitated. 
She  listened  and  heard  the  old  gentleman  say,  "If you  were 
not  an  ass,  you  would  know  that  you  cannot  be  at  the  same 
time  a  baron  and  a  lawyer." 


CHAPTER  II. 

MARIUS    POOR. 

IT  is  the  same  with  misery  as  with  every  thing  else, — in  the 
end  it  becomes  possible,  it  assumes  a  shape.  A  man  vegetates, 
that  is  to  say,  is  developed  in  a  certain  poor  way,  which  is, 
however,  sufficient  for  life.  This  is  the  sort  of  existence  which 
Marius  Pontmercy  had  secured. 

He  had  got  out  of  the  narrowest  part,  and  the  defile  had 
grown  slightly  wider  before  him.  By  labor,  courage,  persever- 
ance, and  his  will,  he  contrived  to  earn  about  seven  hundred 
francs  a  year  by  his  work.  He  had  taught  himself  English 
and  German,  and  thanks  to  Courfeyrac,  who  introduced  him  to 
his  friend,  the  publisher,  he  filled  the  modest  post  of  hack  in 
his  office.  He  wrote  prospectuses,  translated  newspapers,  an- 
notated editions,  compiled  biographies,  and  one  year  with  the 
other,  his  net  receipts  were  seven  hundred  francs.  He  lived 
upon  them — how?  not  badly,  as  we  shall  show. 

Marius  occupied  at  No.  50-52,  for  the  annual  rent  of  thirty 
francs,  a  garret  without  a  fire-place,  which  was  called  a  "  cabi- 
net," and  only  contained  the  indispensable  articles  of  furniture, 
and  this  furniture  was  his  own.  He  paid  three  francs  a  month 
to  the  old  principal  lodger  for  sweeping  out  his  room,  and 
bringing  him  every  morning  a  little  hot  water,  a  new-laid  egg, 
and  a  halfpenny  roll.  On  this  roll  and  egg  he  breakfasted,  and 
the  outlay  varied  from  a  penny  to  two  pence,  according  as  eggs 
were  dear  or  cheap.  At  six  in  the  evening,  he  went  to  the  Rue 
St.  Jacques  to  dine  at  Rousseau's,  exactly  opposite  Basset's,  the 

7 


98  LES   MISERABLES. 

print-shop  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des  Mathurins.  He  did 
not  eat  soup,  but  he  ordered  a  plate  of  meat  for  six  sous,  half 
a  plate  of  vegetables  for  three  sous,  and  dessert  three  sous. 
For  three  sous  he  had  as  much  bread  as  he  liked,  and  for  wine 
he  drank  water.  On  paying  at  the  bar,  where  Madame  Rous- 
seau, at  that  period  a  fat  and  good-looking  dame,  was  majestic- 
ally enthroned,  he  gave  a  sou  for  the  waiter  and  Madame 
Rousseau  gave  him  a  smile.  Then  he  went  away  ;  for  sixteen 
sous  he  had  a  smile  and  a  dinner. 

This  Rousseau  restaurant,  where  so  few  bottles  and  so  many 
water-jugs  were  emptied,  was  rather  a  sedative  than  a  restorer. 
It  no  longer  exists,  but  the  master  used  to  have  a  wonderful 
nickname, — he  was  called  Rousseau  the  aquatic. 

Thus,  with  breakfast  four  sous,  dinner  sixteen,  his  food  cost 
him  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  francs  a  year.  Add  thirty 
francs  for  rent  and  the  thirty-six  francs  for  the  old  woman,  and 
a  few  minor  expenses,  and  for  four  hundred  and  fifty  francs 
Marius  was  boarded,  lodged  and  served.  His  clothes  cost  him 
a  hundred  francs,  his  linen  fifty,  his  washing  fifty,  but  the  whole 
did  not  exceed  six  hundred  and  fifty  francs.  He  had  fifty  left, 
and  was  rich :  at  times  he  would  lend  ten  francs  to  a  friend, 
and  Courfeyrac  once  actually  borrowed  sixty  francs  of  him.  As 
for  firing,  as  Marius  had  no  chimney,  he  "  simplified  "  it. 

Marius  always  had  two  complete  suits ;  one  old,  for  every- 
day  wear,  and  the  other  new,  for  occasions,  and  both  were 
black.  He  had  but  three  shirts,  one  on,  one  in  the  drawer,  and 
one  at  the  wash,  and  he  renewed  them  as  they  became  worn 
out.  As  they  were  usually  torn  he  had  a  fashion  of  buttoning 
up  his  coat  to  the  chin. 

It  had  taken  Marius  years  to  reach  this  flourishing  condition, 
rude  and  difficult  years,  in  which  he  underwent  great  struggles, 
but  he  had  not  failed  to  himself  a  single  day.  As  regarded 
want,  he  had  suffered  every  thing  and  he  had  done  every  thing 
except  run  into  debt.  He  gave  himself  the  credit  of  never 
having  owed  a  farthing  to  any  one,  for  to  him  debt  was  the  be- 
ginning of  slavery.  He  said  to  himself  that  a  creditor  is  worse 
than  a  master ;  for  a  master  only  holds  your  person,  while  a 
creditor  holds  your  dignity  and  may  insult  it.  Sooner  than 
borrow  he  did  not  eat,  and  he  had  known  many  days  of  fasting. 
Knowing  that  unless  a  man  is  careful,  reduction  of  fortune  may 
lead  to  baseness  of  soul,  he  jealously  watched  over  his  pride : 
many  a  remark  or  action  which,  under  other  circumstances,  he 
would  have  regarded  as  deference,  now  seemed  to  him  plati- 
tudes, and  he  refrained  from  them.  He  ventured  nothing,  as 


MARIUS.  99 

he  did  not  wish  to  fall  back  ;  he  had  on  his  face  a  stern  blush, 
and  he  was  timid  almost  to  rudeness. 

In  all  his  trials  he  felt  encouraged,  and  to  some  extent  sup- 
ported, by  a  secret  force  within  him  ;  for  the  soul  helps  the 
body  and  at  times  raises  it,  and  is  the  only  bird  that  upholds  its 
cage. 

By  the  side  of  his  father's  name,  another  name  was  engraved 
on  Marius's  heart,  that  of  Thenardier.  Marius,  in  his  grave 
and  enthusiastic  nature,  enveloped  in  a  species  of  glory  the  man 
to  whom  he  owed  his  father's  life,  that  intrepid  sergeant  who 
saved  his  colonel  among  the  balls  and  bullets  of  Waterloo.  He 
never  separated  the  memory  of  this  man  from  that  of  his 
father,  and  he  associated  them  in  his  veneration  :  it  was  a  spe- 
cies of  shrine  with  two  steps,  the  high  altar  for  the  colonel,  the 
low  one  for  Thenardier.  What  doubled  the  tenderness  of  his 
gratitude  was  the  thought  of  the  misfortune  into  which  he 
knew  that  Thenardier  had  fallen,  and  was  swallowed  up.  Marius 
had  learnt  at  Montfernieil  the  ruin  and  bankruptcy  of  the  un- 
fortunate landlord,  and  since  then  had  made  extraordinary  ef- 
forts to  find  his  trail,  and  try  to  reach  him  in  the  frightful 
abyss  of  misery  through  which  Thenardier  had  disappeared. 
Marius  went  everywhere  :  he  visited  Chelles,  Bondy,  Gournay 
Nogent,  and  Lagny ;  and  obstinately  continued  his  search  for 
three  years,  spending  in  these  explorations  the  little  money  he 
saved.  No  one  was  able  to  give  him  the  slightest  information 
of  Thenardier,  and  it  was  supposed  he  had  gone  to  a  foreign 
country.  His  creditors  had  sought  him  too,  with  less  love,  but 
quite  as  much  perseverance,  as  Marius,  and  had  been  unable  to 
lay  hands  on  him.  Marius  accused  and  felt  angry  with  himself 
for  not  succeeding  in  his  search  ;  it  was  the  only  debt  the  col- 
onel left  him,  and  he  felt  bound  in  honor  to  pay  it.  "  What," 
he  thought,  "when  my  father  lay  dying  on  the  battle-field, 
Thenardier  contrived  to  find  him  in  the  midst  of  the  smoke  and 
grape-shot,  and  carried  him  off  on  his  shoulders,  although  he 
owed  him  nothing,  while  I,  who  owe  so  much  to  Thenardier, 
am  unable  to  come  up  with  him  in  the  shadow  where  he  is  dy- 
ing of  want,  and  in  my  turn  bring  him  back  from  death  to  life. 
Oh,  I  will  find  him  !  "  In  fact,  Marius  would  have  given  one 
of  his  arms  to  find  Thdnardier,  and  his  last  drop  of  blood  to 
save  him  from  want ;  and  his  sweetest  and  most  magnificent 
dream  was  to  see  Thenardier,  do  him  some  service,  and  say  to 
him, — "  You  do  not  know  me,  but  J  know  you :  J  am  here, 
dispose  of  me  as  you  please," 


130  LES   MISERABLES. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MARIUS  GROWS. 

AT  this  period  Marius  was  twenty  years  of  age,  and  he  had 
left  his  grandfather's  house  for  three.  They  remained  on  the 
same  terms,  without  attempting  a  reconciliation  or  trying  to 
meet.  "What  good  would  it  have  been  to  meet? — to  come  into 
collision  again?  "Which  of  them  would  have  got  the  better? 
Marius  was  the  bronze  vessel,  but  Father  Gillenormand  was 
the  iron  pot. 

We  are  bound  to  eay  that  Marius  was  mistaken  as  to  his 
grandfather's  heart ;  lie  imagined  that  M.  Gillenormand  had 
never  loved  him,  and  that  this  sharp,  harsh,  laughing  old  gen- 
tleman, who  cursed,  shouted,  stormed,  and  raised  his  cane,  only 
felt  for  him  at  the  most  that  light  and  severe  affection  of  the 
Gerontes  in  the  play.  Marius  w  s  mistaken ;  there  are  fathers 
who  do  not  love  their  children  ;  but  there  is  not  a  grandfather 
who  does  not  adore  his  grandson.  In  his  heart,  as  we  said,  M. 
Gillenormand  idolized  Marius  :  he  idolized  him,  it  is  true,  after 
his  fashion,  with  an  accompaniment  of  abuse  and  even  of 
blows,  but  when  the  lad  had  disappeared  he  felt  a  black  gap  in 
his  heart ;  he  insisted  upon  his  name  not  being  mentioned,  but 
regretted  that  he  was  so  strictly  obeyed.  At  the  outset  he 
hoped  that  this  Bonapartist,  this  Jacobin,  this  terrorist,  this 
septembrizer  would  return,  but  weeks  passed,  months  passed, 
years  passed,  and,  to  the  great  despair  of  M.  Gillenormand, 
the  drinker  of  blood  did  not  reappear.  "  I  could  not  do  other- 
wise, though,  than  turn  him  out,"  the  grandfather  said ;  and 
asked  himself,  "If  it  were  to  be  done  again,  would  I  do  it?" 
His  pride  at  once  answered  Yes,  but  his  old  head,  which  he 
silently  shook,  sorrowfully  answered,  No.  He  had  his  hours 
of  depression,  for  he  missed  Marius,  and  old  men  require  af- 
fection as  much  as  they  do  the  sun  to  warm  them.  However 
strong  he  might  naturally  be,  the  absence  of  Marius  had 
changed  something  in  him ;  for  no  consideration  in  the  world 
would  he  have  taken  a  step  toward  the  "  little  scamp,"  but  he 
suffered,  He  lived  in  greater  retirement  than  ever  at  the 


MARIUS.  10 1 

Marais  ;  he  waa  still  gay  and  violent  as  of  yore,  but  liis  gayety 
had  a  convulsive  harshness,  as  if  it  contained  grief  and  passion, 
and  his  violence  generally  terminated  with  a  sort  of  gentle  and 
sombre  depression.  He  would  say  to  himself  at  times, — "  Oh, 
if  he  were  to  come  back,  what  a  hearty  box  of  the  ears  I  would 
give  him !  " 

As  for  the  aunt,  she  thought  too  little  to  love  much  ;  to  her 
Marius  was  only  a  black  and  vague  profile,  and  in  the  end  she 
paid  much  less  attention  to  him  than  to  the  cat  or  the  parrot 
which  she  probably  had.  What  added  to  Father  Gillenor- 
mand's  secret  suffering  was  that  he  shut  it  up  within  himself, 
and  did  not  allow  it  to  be  divined.  His  chagrin  was  like  one  of 
those  newly-invented  furnaces  which  consume  their  own  smoke. 
At  times  it  happened  that  officious  friends  would  speak  to  him 
about  Marius,  and  ask,  "  How  is  your  grandson,  and  what  is 
he  doing  ?  "  The  old  bourgeois  would  answer,  with  a  sigh  if 
he  were  sad,  or  with  a  flip  to  his  frill  if  he  wished  to  appear 
gay,  "Baron  Pontmercy  is  shabbily  pleading  in  some  county 
court." 

While  the  old  gentleman  regretted,  Marius  applauded  him- 
self. As  is  the  case  with  all  good  hearts,  misfortune  had  freed 
him  from  bitterness ;  he  thought  of  M.  Gillenormand  gently, 
but  he  was  resolved  never  to  accept  any  thing  from  a  man  who 
had  been  unjust  to  his  father.  This  was  the  mitigated  transla- 
tion of  his  first  indignation.  Moreover,  he  was  glad  that  he  had 
suffered,  and  was  still  suffering,  for  he  did  so  for  his  father.  The 
hardness  of  his  life  satisfied  and  pleased  him,  and  he  said  to  him- 
self with  a  sort  of  joy  that  it  was  the  least  he  could  do,  and  that  it 
was  an  expiation  ;  that,  were  it  not  so,  he  would  have  been  pun- 
ished, differently  and  here  after,  for  his  impious  indifference  toward 
his  father,  and  such  a  father, — that  it  would  not  have  been  just  for 
his  father  to  have  all  the  suffering  and  he  none,  and,  besides, 
what  were  his  toil  and  want  when  compared  with  the  colonel's 
heroic  life?  Lastly,  that  his  only  way  of  approaching  his 
father,  and  resembling  him,  was  to  be  valiant  against  indigence, 
as  he  had  been  brave  against  the  enemy,  and  that  this  was 
doubtless  what  the  colonel  meant  by  the  words,  he  will  be  worthy 
of  it — words  which  Marius  continued  to  bear,  not  on  his  chest, 
as  the  colonel's  letter  had  disappeared,  but  in  his  heart. 

And  then,  again,  on  the  day  when  his  grandfather  turned 
him  out,  he  was  only  a  boy,  while  now  he  was  a  man  and  felt 
he  was  so.  Misery,  we  lay  a  stress  on  the  fact,  had  been  kind 
to  him,  for  poverty  in  youth,  when  it  succeeds,  has  the  magnifi- 
cent result  of  turning  the  whole  will  to  effort,  and  the  whole 


102  LES   MISERABLES. 

soul  to  aspiration.  Poverty  at  once  lays  bare  material  life,  and 
renders  it  hideous ;  and  hence  come  indescribable  soarings 
toward  the  ideal  life.  The  rich  young  man  has  a  thousand 
brilliant  and  coarse  amusements, — races,  shooting,  dogs,  tobacco, 
gambling,  good  dinners,  and  so  on,  which  are  occupation  of  the 
lower  part  of  the  mind  at  the  expense  of  the  higher  and  more 
delicate  part.  The  poor  young  man  has  to  work  for  his  bread, 
mid  when  he  has  eaten,  he  has  only  reverie  left  him.  He  goes 
to  the  gratis  spectacles  which  God  gives  him  ;  he  looks  at  the 
sky,  space,  the  stars,  the  flowers,  the  children,  the  humanity 
in  which  he  is  suffering,  and  the  creation  in  which  he  radiates. 
He  looks  so  much  at  humanity  that  he  sees  the  soul,  and  so 
much  at  creation  that  he  sees  God.  He  dreams,  and  feels  him- 
self great ;  he  dreams  again,  and  feels  himself  tender.  From 
the  egotism  of  the  man  who  suffers,  he  passes  to  the  compassion 
of  the  man  who  contemplates,  and  an  admirable  feeling  is 
aroused  in  him — forgetfulness  of  self,  and  pity  for  all.  On 
thinking  of  the  numberless  enjoyments  which  nature  offers, 
gives,  and  lavishes  on  open  minds,  and  refuses  to  closed  minds, 
he,  the  millionnaire  of  intellect,  learns  to  pity  the  million- 
naire  of  money.  Hatred  departs  from  his  heart  in  proportion 
as  brightness  enters  his  mind.  Moreover,  was  he  unhappy? 
no,  for  the  wretchedness  of  a  young  man  is  never 
wretched.  Take  the  first  lad  who  passes,  however  poor  he 
may  be,  with  his  health,  his  strength,  his  quick  step, 
his  sparkling  eyes,  his  blood  circulating  warmly,  his  black 
hair,  his  ruddy  cheeks,  his  coral  lips,  his  white  teeth  and  his 
pure  breath — and  he  will  ever  be  an  object  of  envy  to  an  old 
emperor.  And  then,  each  morning  he  goes  to  earn  liis  liveli- 
hood, and  while  his  hands  can  earn  bread,  his  spine  gains  pride, 
and  his  brain,  ideas.  When  his  work  is  ended,  he  returns  to 
ineffable  ecstasy,  to  contemplation  and  joy ;  he  lives  with  his 
feet  in  affliction,  in  obstacles,  on  the  pavement,  in  the  brambles, 
or  at  times  in  the  mud,  but  his  head  is  in  the  light.  He  is 
firm,  serene,  gentle,  peaceful,  attentive,  serious,  satisfied  with 
a  little,  and  benevolent,  and  he  blesses  God  for  having  given 
him  two  riches  which  rich  men  often  want — labor  which  makes 
him  free,  and  thought  that  renders  him  worthy. 

This  is  what  went  on  in  Marius,  and,  truth  to  tell,  he  in- 
clined almost  too  much  to  the  side  of  contemplation.  From 
the  day  when  he  felt  tolerably  certain  of  a  livelihood,  he 
stopped  there,  thinking  it  good  to  be  poor,  and  taking  from 
labor  hours  which  he  gave  to  thought.  That  is  to  say,  he 
spent  entire  days  now  and  then  in  dreaming,  plunged  like  a. 


MARIUS.  103 

visionary  into  the  silent  delights  of  ecstasy.  He  had  thus 
arranged  the  problem  of  his  life  ;  to  toil  as  little  as  possible  at 
the  material  task,  in  order  to  work  as  much  as  possible  on  the 
impalpable  task — in  other  words,  to  devote  a  few  hours  to  real 
life,  and  throw  the  rest  into  infinity.  He  did  not  perceive,  as 
he  fancied  that  he  wanted  for  nothing,  that  contemplation, 
thus  understood,  ended  by  becoming  one  of  the  forms  of  indo- 
lence ;  that  he  had  contented  himself  with  subduing  the  abso- 
lute necessities  of  life,  and  that  he  was  resting  too  soon. 

It  was  evident  that  for  such  a  generous  and  energetic  nature 
as  his  this  could  only  be  a  transitional  state,  and  that  at  the 
first  collision  with  the  inevitable  complications  of  destiny 
Marius  would  wake  up. 

In  the  meanwhile,  though,  he  was  called  to  the  bar,  and 
whatever  Father  Gillenormand  might  think,  he  did  not  prac- 
tice, for  reverie  had  turned  him  away  from  oratory.  It  was  a 
bore  to  flatter  attorneys,  attend  regularly  at  the  palace  and 
seek  for  briefs.  And  why  should  he  do  so  ?  he  saw  no  reason 
to  change  his  means  of  existence  ;  his  obscure  task  was  cer- 
tain, he  had  but  little  labor  over  it,  and,  as  we  have  explained, 
he  considered  his  income  satisfactory. 

One  of  the  publishers  for  whom  he  worked,  M.  Magimel,  1 
think,  offered  to  take  him  into  his  house,  lodge  him  comfort- 
ably, find  him  regular  work,  and  pay  him  one  thousand  five 
hundred  francs  a  year.  To  be  comfortably  lodged  and  have 
one  thousand  five  hundred  francs  a  year !  doubtless  agreeable 
things,  but  then,  to  resign  his  liberty,  to  be  a  hired  servant,  a 
sort  of  literary  clerk !  In  the  opinion  of  Marius,  if  he  ac- 
cepted, his  position  would  become  better  and  worse;  he  would 
gain  comfort  and  lose  dignity  ;  he  would  exchange  a  complete 
and  fine  misfortune  for  an  ugly  and  ridiculous  constraint  ;  it 
would  be  something  like  a  blind  man  \vho  became  one-eyed. 
So  he  declined  the  offer. 

Marius  lived  in  solitude  ;  through  the  inclination  he  had  to 
remain  outside  every  thing,  and  also  through  the  commotion 
he  had  undergone,  he  held  aloof  from  the  society  presided  over 
by  Enjolras.  They  remained  excellent  friends,  and  ready  to 
help  each  other  when  the  opportunity  offered,  but  nothing 
more.  Marius  had  two  friends,  one,  young  Courfeyrac,  the 
other,  old  M.  Mabocuf,  and  he  inclined  to  the  latter.  In  the  first 
place,  he  owed  to  him  the  revolution  which  had  taken  place  in 
him,  and  hi.s  knowledge  and  love  of  his  father :  "  He  oper< 
ated  on  me  for  the  cataract,"  he  would  say. 

Certainly,  this  churchwarden  had  been  decisive :  but  for  all 


104  LES   MISERABLES. 

that,  M.  Maboeuf  had  only  been  in  this  affair  the  calm  and  im- 
passive agent  of  Providence.  He  had  enlightened  Marius  acci- 
dentally and  unconsciously,  just  as  a  candle  does  which  some 
one  brings  into  a  room,  but  he  had  been  the  candle,  and  not 
the  some  one. 

As  for  the  internal  political  revolution  which  had  taken 
place  in  Marius,  M  Maboeuf  was  entirely  incapable  of  under- 
standing, wishing,  or  deserving  it. 

As  we  shall  meet  M.  Maboeuf  again,  hereafter,  a  few  re- 
marks about  him  will  not  be  thrown  away. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

M.    MABCEUF. 

ON  the  day  when  M.  Maboeuf  said  to  Marius,  "  I  certainly 
approve  of  political  opinions,"  he  expressed  the  real  state  of 
his  mind.  All  political  opinions  were  a  matter  of  indifference 
to  him,  and  he  approved  of  them  all  without  distinction,  that 
they  might  leave  him  at  peace,  just  as  the  Greeks  called  the 
Furies,  "  the  lovely,  the  kind,  the  exquisite,"  the  Eumenides. 
M.  Maboeuf  s  political  opinion  was  to  love  plants  passionately, 
and  books  even  more.  He  possessed,  like  everybody  else,  his 
termination  in  ist,  without  which  no  one  could  have  lived  at 
that  day,  but  he  was  neither  royalist,  Bonapartist,  chartist, 
Orleanist,  nor  anarchist, — he  was  a  botanist. 

He  did  not  understand  how  men  could  come  to  hate  each 
other  for  trifles  like  the  charter,  democracy,  legitimacy,  mon- 
archy, the  republic,  etc.,  when  there  were  in  the  world  all  sorts 
of  mosses,  grasses,  and  plants  which  they  could  look  at,  and 
piles  of  folios,  and  even  32mos,  whose  pages  they  could  turn 
over.  He  was  very  careful  not  to  be  useless  ;  his  having 
books  did  not  prevent  him  reading  them,  and  being  a  botanist 
did  not  prevent  him  being  a  gardener.  When  he  knew  Col- 
onel Pontmercy,  there  was  this  sympathy  between  them,  that 
the  colonel  did  for  flowers  what  he  did  for  fruits.  M.  Maboeuf 
had  succeeded  in  producing  pears  as  sweet  as  those  of  St.  Ger- 
main ;  it  is  one  of  those  combinations  from  which  sprang,  as  it 
seems,  the  autumn  Mirabelle  plum,  which  is  still  celebrated, 
and  no  less  perfumed  than  the  summer  one.  He  attended 
mass  more  through  gentleness  than  devotion,  and  because, 
while  he  loved  men's  faces  but  hated  their  noise,  he  found 


MARIUS.  105 

them  at  church  congregated  and  silent,  and  feeling  that  he 
must  hold  some  position  in  the  state,  he  selected  that  of  church- 
warden. He  had  never  succeeded  in  loving  any  woman  so 
much  as  a  tulip  bulb,  or  any  man  so  much  as  an  Elzevir.  He 
had  long  passed  his  sixtieth  year,  when  some  one  asked  him 
one  day,  "  How  is  it  that  you  never  married  ?  "  "I  forgot  it," 
lie  said.  When  he  happened  to  say — and  to  whom  does  it  not 
happen  ? — "Oh,  if  I  were  rich!"  it  was  not  when  ogling  a 
pretty  girl,  like  Father  Gillenormand,  but  when  contemplating 
a  quarto.  He  lived  alone  with  an  old  housekeeper  ;  he  was 
rather  gouty,  and  when  he  slept,  his  old  chalk-stoned  fingers 
formed  an  arch  in  the  folds  of  the  sheets.  He  had  written 
and  published  a  "  Flora  of  the  environs  of  Cauteretz,"  with 
colored  plates,  a  work  of  some  merit,  of  which  he  possessed 
the  plates,  and  sold  it  himself.  People  rang  at  his  door  in  the 
Rue  Mezieres  two  or  three  times  a  day  to  buy  a  copy  ;  he 
made  a  profit  of  about  two  thousand  francs  a  year  by  the  book, 
and  that  was  nearly  his  whole  fortune.  Although  poor,  he 
had  contrived  by  patience  and  privations,  and  with  time,  to 
form  a  valuable  collection  of  all  sorts  of  rare  examples.  He 
never  went  out  without  a  book  under  his  arm,  and  frequently 
returned  with  two.  The  sole  ornaments  of  his  four  rooms  on 
the  ground-floor,  which,  with  a  small  garden,  formed  his  lodg- 
ing, were  herbals  and  engravings  by  old  masters.  The  sight 
of  a  musket  or  a  sabre  froze  him,  and  in  his  life  he  had  never 
walked  up  to  a  cannon,  not  even  at  the  Invalides.  He  had  a 
tolerable  stomach,  a  brother  a  cure,  very  white  hair,  no  teeth 
left  in  his  mouth  or  in  his  mind,  a  tremor  all  over  him,  a 
Picard  accent,  a  childish  laugh,  and  the  air  of  an  old  sheep. 
With  all  he  had  no  other  friend  among  the  living  than  an  old 
book  seller  at  the  Porte  St.  Jacques  of  the  name  of  Royol ; 
and  the  dream  of  his  life  was  to  naturalize  indigo  in  France. 

His  maid-servant  was  also  a  variety  of  innocence.  The  good 
woman  was  an  old  maid,  and  Sultan,  her  tom-cat,  who  might 
have  miauled  the  Allegri  Miserere  in  the  Sixtine  Chapel, 
filled  her  heart,  and  sufficed  for  the  amount  of  passion  within 
her.  Not  one  of  her  dreams  had  ever  gone  so  far  as  a  man, 
and  had  not  got  beyond  her  cat ;  like  him,  she  had  mustaches. 
Her  glory  was  perfectly  white  caps,  and  she  spent  her  time  on 
Sunday,  after  mass,  in  counting  the  linen  in  her  box,  and 
spreading  on  her  bed  the  gowns  which  she  bought  in  the  piece, 
and  never  had  made  up.  She  knew  how  to  read,  and  M. 
Mabceuf  had  christened  her  Mother  Plutarch. 

M.  Mabceuf  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Marius,  because  the  young 


106  LES   MISERABLES. 

man,  being  young  and  gentle,  warmed  his  old  age  without 
startling  his  timidity.  Youth,  combined  with  gentleness,  pro- 
duces on  aged  people  the  effect  of  sun  without  wind.  When 
Marius  was  saturated  with  military  glory,  gunpowder,  marches 
and  countermarches,  and  all  the  prodigious  battles  in  which 
his  father  gave  and  received  such  mighty  sabre  cuts,  he 
went  to  see  M.  Maboeuf,  who  talked  to  him  about  the  hero  in 
his  connection  with  flowers. 

About  the  year  1830  his  brother,  the  cure,  died,  and  almost 
immediately  after,  as  when  night  arrives,  the  entire  horizon 
became  dark  for  M.  Maboauf.  The  bankruptcy  of  a  notary 
despoiled  him  of  ten  thousand  francs,  all  he  possessed  of  his 
brother's  capital  and  his  own,  while  the  revolution  of  July  pro- 
duced a  crisis  in  the  book  trade.  In  times  of  pressure  the  first 
thing  which  does  not  sell  is  a  Flora,  and  that  of  the  Environs 
of  Cauteretz  stopped  dead.  Weeks  passed  without  a  purchaser. 
At  times  M.  Mabrouf  started  at  the  sound  of  the  house  bell, 
but  Mother  Plutarch  would  say  to  him  sadly,  "  It  is  the  water- 
carrier,  sir."  In  a  word,  M.  Mabceuf  left  the  Rue  MeziSres 
one  day,  abdicated  his  office  as  churchwarden,  gave  up  to  St. 
Sulpice,  sold  a  portion,  not  of  his  books,  but  of  his  engravings, 
for  which  he  cared  least,  and  installed  himself  in  a  small  house 
on  the  Boulevard  Montparnasse,  where,  however,  he  only  re- 
mained three  months,  for  two  reasons — in  the  first  place,  the 
ground-floor  and  garden  cost  three  hundred  francs,  and  he  did 
not  dare  set  aside  more  than  two  hundred  francs  for  rent ;  and 
secondly,  as  he  was  close  to  the  Fatou  shooting  gallery,  he 
heard  pistol-shots,  which  he  could  not  endure. 

He  carried  off  his  Flora,  his  copperplates,  his  herbals,  port- 
folios, and  books,  and  settled  down  near  the  Salpetrie're,  in  a 
sort  of  hut,  in  the  village  of  Austerlitz,  where  he  rented  for 
fifty  crowns  a  year  three  rooms,  a  garden  enclosed  by  a  hedge, 
and  a  well.  He  took  advantage  of  this  removal  to  sell  nearly 
all  his  furniture.  On  the  day  when  he  entered  his  new  house 
he  was  in  very  good  spirits,  and  drove  in  with  his  own  hands 
the  nails  on  which  to  hang  the  engravings  ;  he  dug  in  his  gar- 
den for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  at  night,  seeing  that  Mother 
Plutarch  had  an  anxious  look  and  was  thoughtful,  he  tapped 
her  on  the  shoulder  and  said  with  a  smile,  "  We  have  the 
indigo." 

Only  two  visitors,  the  publisher  and  Marius,  were  allowed 
admission  to  his  hut  of  Austerlitz,  a  rackety  name,  by  the  way, 
which  was  most  disagreeable  to  him. 

As  we  have  remarked,  things  of  this  world  permeate  very 


MARIUS.  107 

slowly  brains  absorbed  in  wisdom,  or  mania,  or,  as  often  hap- 
pens, in  both  at  once,  and  their  own  destiny  is  remote  from 
them.  The  result  of  such  concentrations  is  a  passiveness 
which,  were  it  of  a  reasoning  nature,  would  resemble  philosophy. 
Men  go  downwards,  pass  away,  and  even  are  broken  up,  with- 
out exactly  noticing,  though  this  always  ends  with  a  reawaken- 
ing, but  one  of  a  tardy  character.  In  the  meanwhile,  it  ap- 
pears as  if  they  are  neutral  in  the  game  which  is  being  played 
between  their  happiness  and  misery  ;  they  are  the  stakes,  and 
looked  on  at  the  game  with  indifference. 

It  was  thus  that  M.  Mabceuf  remained  rather  childishly  but 
most  profoundly  serene,  in  the  obscurity  that  was  enveloping  him 
gradually,  and  while  his  hopes  were  being  extinguished  in  turn. 
The  habits  of  his  mind  had  the  regular  movement  of  a  clock, 
and  when  he  was  once  wound  up  by  an  illusion,  he  went  for  a 
very  long  time,  even  when  the  illusion  had  disappeared.  A 
clock  does  not  stop  at  the  precise  moment  when  the  key  is 
lost. 

M.  Mabceuf  had  innocent  pleasures,  which  cost  but  little  and 
were  unexpected,  and  the  slightest  accident  supplied  him  with 
them.  One  day  Mother  Plutarch  was  reading  a  novel  in  the 
corner  of  the  room ;  she  was  reading  aloud,  for  she  fancied  that 
she  understood  better  in  that  way.  There  are  some  persons 
who  read  very  loud,  and  look  as  if  they  were  pledging  them- 
selves their  word  of  honor  about  what  they  are  reading. 

Mother  Plutarch  read  her  novel  with  an  energy  of  this 
nature,  and  M.  Mabo3uf  listened  to  her  without  hearing. 

While  reading,  Mother  Plutarch  came  to  the  following 
passage,  relating  to  a  bold  dragoon  and  a  gushing  young  lady : 

"  La  belle  bouda,  et  Le  Dragon — " 

Here  she  broke  off  to  wipe  her  spectacles. 

"  Bouddha  and  the  dragon,"  M.  Maboeuf  repeated  in  alow 
voice,  "  yes,  that  is  true  ;  there  was  a  dragon,  which  lived  in  a 
cavern,  belched  flames,  and  set  fire  to  the  sky.  Several  stars 
had  already  been  burnt  up  by  this  monster,  which  had  tiger- 
claws,  by  the  bye,  when  Bouddha  went  into  its  den  and  suc- 
ceeded in  converting  the  dragon.  That  is  an  excellent  book 
you  are  reading,  Mother  Plutarch,  and  there  cannot  be  a 
finer  legend." 

And  M.  Maboeuf  fell  into  a  delicious  reverie. 


108  LES  MISERABLES. 


CHAPTER  V. 

POVERTY   A   GOOD   NEIGHBOR   OP  MISERY. 

MARIUS  felt  a  liking  for  this  candid  old  man,  who  saw  him- 
self slowly  assailed  by  'poverty  and  yet  was  not  depressed  by 
it.  Marius  met  Courfeyrac  and  sought  M.  Maboeuf — very 
rarely,  however — once  or  twice  a  month  at  the  most.  Marius' 
delight  was  to  take  long  walks  alone,  either  on  the  external 
boulevards  at  the  Champ  de  Mars,  or  in  the  least  frequented 
walks  of  the  Luxembourg.  He  often  spent  half  a  day  in 
looking  at  a  kitchen-garden,  the  patches  of  lettuce,  the  fowls 
on  the  dungheap,  and  the  horse  turning  the  mill-wheel. 
Passers-by  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  and  some  thought  his 
dress  suspicious  and  his  face  dangerous,  while  it  was  only  a 
poor  young  man  thinking  without  an  object. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  walks  that  he  discovered  the  Maison 
Gorbeau,  and  the  isolation  and  the  cheapness  tempting  him, 
he  took  a  room  there.  He  was  only  known  by  the  name  of  M. 
Marius. 

Some  of  his  father's  old  generals  and  old  comrades  invited 
him  to  come  and  see  them,  when  they  knew  him,  and  Mnrius 
did  not  refuse,  for  they  were  opportunities  to  speak  about  his 
father.  He  called  thus  from  time  to  time  upon  Count 
Pajol,  General  Bellavesne,  and  General  Frerion  at  the 
Invalides.  There  was  generally  music  and  dancing,  and  on 
such  evenings  Marius  put  on  his  best  suit ;  but  he  never  went 
to  such  parties  except  on  days  when  it  was  freezing  tremen- 
dously hard,  for  he  could  not  pay  for  a  vehicle,  and  he  would  not 
go  unless  his  boots  were  like  looking-glasses. 

He  would  say  at  times,  though  not  at  all  bitterly,  "  Men  are 
so  constituted  that  in  a  drawing-room  you  may  have  mud  every- 
where except  on  your  boots.  In  order  to  give  you  a  proper 
reception  only  one  irreproachable  thing  is  expected  from  you 
— is  it  your  conscience  ?  no,  your  boots." 

All  passions,  saving  those  of  the  heart,  are  dissipated  in 
reverie.  The  political  fever  of  Marius  had  vanished,  and  the 
revolution  of  1830  had  aided  in  this,  by  satisfying  and  calming 


MARIUS.  109 

him.  He  had  remained  the  same,  except  in  his  passion ;  he 
still  held  the  same  opinions,  but  they  were  softened  down. 
Properly  speaking,  he  no  longer  had  opinions  but  sympathies  ; 
to  what  party  did  he  belong  ?  to  that  of  humanity.  For  humanity 
he  selected  France ;  in  the  nation  he  chose  the  people  ;  and  in 
the  people,  woman,  and  his  pity  was  mainly  given  to  her.  At 
the  present  time  he  preferred  an  idea  to  a  fact,  a  poet  to  a 
hero,  and  he  admired  a  book  like  Job  even  more  than  an  event 
like  Marengo ;  and  when  after  a  day  of  meditation  he  returned 
along  the  boulevard  and  saw  through  the  trees  the  illim- 
itable space,  the  nameless  gleams,  the  abyss,  shadow,  and 
mystery,  all  that  was  only  human  seemed  to  him  infinitely 
little. 

He  believed  that  he  had — and  probably  he  had — reached 
the  truth  of  life  and  of  human  philosophy,  and  he  ended  by 
gazing  at  nothing  but  the  sky,  the  only  thing  which  truth  can 
see  from  the  bottom  of  her  well. 

This  did  not  prevent  him  from  multiplying  plans,  combina- 
tions, scaffolding,  and  projects  for  the  future.  In  this  state  of 
reverie,  any  eye  which  had  seen  into  Marius's  interior  would 
have  been  dazzled  by  the  purity  of  his  mind.  In  fact,  if  our 
eyes  of  the  flesh  were  allowed  to  peer  into  the  consciences  of 
our  neighbor,  a  man  could  be  judged  far  more  surely  from 
what  he  dreams  than  from  what  he  thinks.  There  is  a  voli- 
tion in  thought,  but  there  is  none  in  a  dream,  and  the  latter, 
which  is  entirely  spontaneous,  assumes  and  retains,  even  in  the 
gigantic  and  the  ideal,  the  image  of  our  mind.  Nothing  issues 
more  directly  and  more  sincerely  from  the  bottom  of  our  soul 
than  our  unreflecting  and  disproportion  aspirations  for  the 
splendors  of  destiny.  The  true  character  of  every  man  could 
be  found  in  these  aspirations,  far  more  certainly  than  in  ar- 
ranged, reasoned,  and  co-ordinated  ideas.  Our  chimeras  are 
the  things  which  most  resemble  ourselves,  and  each  man  dreams 
of  the  unknown  and  the  impossible  according  to  his  nature. 

About  the  middle  of  the  year  1831   the  old    woman  who 
waited   on    Marius  told  him  that  his  neighbors,  the  wretched 
Jondrette  family,  were  going  to  be  turned  out.     Marius,  who 
spent  nearly  his  whole  time  out  of  doors,  scarce  knew  that  he* 
had  neighbors. 

"  Why  are  they  turned  out?"  he  asked. 

"  Because  they  do  not  pay  their  rent,  and  owe  two  quar- 
ters." 

"  How  much  is  it  ?  " 

"  Twenty  francs,"  said  the  old  woman. 


1 10  LES  MISERABLES. 

Marius  had  thirty  francs  in  reserve  in  a  drawer. 

"  Here  are  twenty-five  francs,"  he  said  to  the  woman,  "  pay 
the  rent  of  the  poor  people,  give  them  five  francs,  and  do  not 
tell  them  where  the  money  comes  from." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  SUBSTITUTE. 

ACCIDENT  decreed  that  the  regiment  to  which  Theodule  be- 
longed should  be  quartered  in  Paris.  This  was  an  opportunity 
for  Aunt  Gillenormand  to  have  a  second  idea;  her  first  one  had 
been  to  set  Theodule  watching  Marius,  and  she  now  plotted  to 
make  him  succeed  him. 

In  the  event  of  the  grandfather  feeling  a  vague  want  for  a 
youthful  face  in  the  house — for  such  rays  of  dawn  are  some- 
times sweet  to  ruins — it  was  expedient  to  find  another  Marius. 
"  Well,"  she  thought,  "  it  is  only  a  simple  erratum,  such  as  I 
notice  in  books,  for  Marius  read  Theodule. 

A  grandnephew  is  much  the  same  as  a  grandson,  after 
all,  and  in  default  of  a  barrister  you  can  take  a  lancer. 

One  morning  when  M.  Gillenormand  was  going  to  read 
something  like  the  Quotidienne,  his  daughter  came  in  and 
eaid  in  her  softest  voice,  for  the  interests  of  her  favorite 
were  at  stake, — 

"  Papa,  Theodule  is  coming  this  morning  to  pay  his  respects 
to  you." 

«  Who's  Theodule  ?  " 

"  Your  grandnephew." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  eld  gentleman. 

Then  he  began  reading,  thought  no  more  of  the  grand- 
nephew,  who  was  only  some  Theodule,  and  soon  became  angry, 
which  nearly  always  happened  when  he  read.  The  paper  he 
held,  a  royalist  one,  we  need  hardly  say,  announced  for  the 
morrow,  without  any  amenity,  one  of  the  daily  events  of  Paris 
at  that  day.  "  The  pupils  of  the  schools  of  law  and  medicine 
were  going  to  assemble  in  the  Pantheon  Square — to  deliber- 
ate." The  affair  was  one  of  the  questions  of  the  moment,  the 
artillery  of  the  national  guard,  and  a  conflict  between  the 
war  minister  and  the  "  Citizen  Militia,"  on  the  subject  of  guns 
parked  in  the  court-yard  of  the  Louvre.  The  students  were 


MARIUS.  1 1 1 

going  to  "deliberate"  on  this,  and  it  did  not  require  much 
more  to  render  M.  Gillenormand  furious. 

He  thought  of  Marius,  who  was  a  student,  and  who  would 
probably  go,  like  the  others,  "  to  deliberate  at  midday  in  the 
Pantheon  Square." 

While  he  was  making  these  painful  reflections  Lieutenant 
Theodule  came  in,  dressed  in  mufti,  which  was  clever,  and  was 
discreetly  introduced  by  Mile.  Gillenormand.  The  lancer  had 
reasoned  thus,  "  The  old  Druid  has  not  sunk  all  his  money  in 
annuities,  and  so  it  is  worth  the  while  to  disguise  one's  self  as 
a  pekin  now  and  then." 

Mile.  Gillenormand  said  aloud  to  her  father, — 

"  Theodule,  your  grandnephew." 

And  in  a  whisper  to  the  lieutenant, — 

"  Assent  to  every  thing." 

And  retired. 

The  lieutenant,  but  little  accustomed  to  such  venerable  meet- 
ings stammered,  with  some  timidity,  "  Good  morning,  uncle," 
and  gave  a  bow  which  was  half  a  military  salute  and  half  a 
reverence. 

"  Ah,  it's  you,  very  good,  sit  down,"  said  the  ancestor,  and 
after  saying  this  he  utterly  forgot  the  lancer. 

Theodule  sat  down,  and  M.  Gillenormand  got  up. 

He  began  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  talking  aloud,  and  feeling  with  his  old  irritated 
fingers  the  two  watches  which  he  wore  in  his  two  fobs. 

"  That  heap  of  scamps !  so  they  are  going  to  meet  in  the 
Pantheon  Square  !  Vertu  de  ma  mie !  little  ragamuffins  who 
were  at  nurse  yesterday  !  if  you  were  to  squeeze  their  noses 
the  milk  would  run  out !  And  they  are  going  to  deliberate  to- 
morrow !  Where  are  we  going?  where  are  we  going?  it  is 
clear  that  we  are  going  to  the  abyss,  and  the  descamisados 
have  led  us  to  it.  The  citizen  artillery  !  deliberate  about  the 
citizen  artillery!  go  and  chatter  in  the  open  air  about  the 
squibs  of  the  National  Guard  !  and  whom  will  they  meet  there? 
Just  let  us  see  to  what  Jacobinism  leads.  I  will  wager  what- 
ever you  like,  a  million  against  a  counter,  that  there  will  be 
only  liberated  convicts  and  pickpockets  there,  for  the  republic- 
ans and  the  galley-slaves  are  like  one  nose  and  one  handker- 
chief. Carnot  used  to  say,  '  Where  do  you  want  me  to  go, 
traitor  ? '  and  Fouche*  answer,  '  Wherever  you  like,  imbecile  ! ' 
That  is  what  the  republicans  are." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Theodule. 


112  LES   MISERABLES. 

M.  Gillenormand  half  turned  his  head,  saw  Theodule,  and 
went  on, — 

"  And  then  to  think  that  that  scamp  had  the  villany  to  be- 
come a  republican  !  why  did  you  leave  my  house  to  become  a 
republican  ?  Pest !  in  the  first  place,  the  people  do  not  want 
your  republic,  for  they  are  sensible,  and  know  very  well  that 
there  always  have  been  kings,  and  always  will  be,  and  they 
know,  after  all,  that  the  people  are  only  the  people,  and  they 
laugh  at  your  republic,  do  you  hear,  Cretin  ?  Is  not  such  a  ca- 
price horrible?  to  fall  in  love  with  Pere  Duchesne,  to  ogle  the 
guillotine,  to  sing  romances,  and  play  the  guitar  under  the  bal- 
cony of  '93 — why,  all  these  young  men  ought  to  be  spat  upon, 
for  they  are  so  stupid !  They  are  all  caught,  and  not  one  es- 
capes, and  they  need  only  inhale  the  air  of  the  street  to  go 
mad.  The  nineteenth  century  is  poison  ;  the  first-comer  lets 
his  goat's  beard  grow,  believes  himself  a  scoundrel  for  the 
truth,  and  bolts  from  his  old  parents,  for  that  is  republican,  it 
is  romantic;  just  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  what  that  word  ro- 
mantic means  ? — every  folly  possible.  A  year  ago  they  went 
to  see  Hernani.  Just  let  me  ask  you,  Hernani!  antitheses, 
abominations,  which  are  not  even  written  in  French.  And 
then  there  are  cannon  in  the  court-yard  of  the  Louvre ;  such  is 
the  brigandage  of  the  present  age." 

"  You  are  right,  uncle,"  said  Theodule. 

M.  Gillenormand  continued, — 

"  Guns  in  the  court-yard  of  the  Museum  !  what  to  do?  Can- 
non, what  do  you  want  of  me?  do  you  wish  to  fire  grape-shot 
at  the  Apollo  Belvidere  ?  What  have  serge-cartridges  to  do 
with  the  Venus  de  Medici  ?  Oh  !  the  young  men  of  the  pres- 
ent day  are  ragamuffins,  and  this  Benjamin  Constant  is  not 
much.  And  those  who  are  not  villains  are  gawkies  !  they  do 
all  they  can  to  make  themselves  ugly, — they  dress  badly,  they 
are  afraid  of  women,  and  they  have  an  air  of  begging  round 
petticoats,  which  makes  the  girls  laugh  ;  on  my  word  of  honor, 
they  look  as  if  ashamed  medicants  of  love.  They  are  de- 
formed, and  perfect  it  by  being  stupid ;  they  repeat  the  jokes 
of  Tiercelin  and  Potier ;  they  wear  sack-coats,  hostlers'  waist- 
coats, trousers  of  coarse  cloth,  boots  of  coarse  leather,  and  their 
chatter  resembles  their  plumage — their  jargon  might  be  em- 
ployed to  sole  their  boots.  And  all  these  silly  lads  have  polit- 
ical opinions,  and  it  ought  to  be  strictly  prohibited.  They 
manufacture  systems,  they  remodel  society,  they  demolish  the 
monarchy,  upset  all  laws,  put  the  garret  in  the  place  of  the 
cellar,  and  my  porter  in  the  place  of  the  king ;  they  upset 


MARIUS.  113 

Europe  from  one  end  to  the  other,  build  up  the  world  again, 
and  their  amours  consist  in  looking  sheepishly  at  the  legs  of  the 
washerwomen  as  they  get  into  their  carts.  Ah,  Marius !  ah, 
scoundrel !  to  go  and  vociferate  in  the  public  square  !  to  dis- 
cuss, debate,  and  form  measures — they  call  them  measures. 
Great  gods  !  why  disorder  is  decreasing  and  becoming  silly.  I 
have  seen  chaos  and  I  now  see  a  puddle.  Scholars  deliberat- 
ing about  the  National  Guard  !  why,  that  could  not  be  seen 
among  the  Ojibiways  or  the  Cacodaches  !  The  savages  who  go 
about  naked,  with  their  noddles  dressed  like  a  racket-bat,  and 
with  a  club  in  their  paw,  are  less  of  brutes  than  these  bachel- 
ors, two-penny-halfpenny  brats,  who  dare  to  decree  and  order, 
deliberate  and  argue  !  Why,  it  is  the  end  of  the  world ;  it  is 
evidently  the  end  of  this  wretched  globe,  it  wanted  a  final 
shove,  and  France  has  given  it.  Deliberate,  my  scamps ! 
These  things  will  happen  so  long  as  they  go  to  read  the  papers 
under  the  arcades  of  the  Odeon  ;  it  costs  them  a  halfpenny, 
and  their  common  sense,  and  their  intelligence,  and  their  heart, 
and  their  soul,  and  their  mind.  They  leave  that  place,  and 
then  bolt  from  their  family.  All  the  newspapers  are  poison, 
even  the  Drapeau  Blanc  !  and  Martainville  was  a  Jacobin  at 
heart.  Ah,  just  Heaven  !  you  can  boast  of  having  rendered 
your  grandfather  desperate  !  " 

"  That  is  quite  plain,"  said  Theodule. 

And  taking  advantage  of  the  moment,  during  which  M. 
Gillenormand  was  recovering  breath,  the  lancer  added  magis- 
terially,— 

"  There  ought  to  be  no  other  paper  but  the  Moniteur,  and  no 
other  book  but  the  Army  List." 

M.  Gillenormand  went  on, — 

"  It  is  just  like  their  Sieyes  !  a  regicide  who  became  a  sena- 
tor !  for  they  always  end  with  that.  They  scar  themselves 
with  the  citizen,  so  that  they  may  be  called  in  the  long  run 

Monsieur  le  Comte ,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  as  long  as  the 

arm  of  the  slaughterers  of  September.  The  philosopher 
Sieiyes  !  I  do  myself  the  justice  of  saying  that  I  never  cared 
any  more  /or  the  philosophy  of  all  these  philosophers,  than  I 
did  for  the  spectacles  of  the  grimacers  at  Tivoli.  One  day  I 
saw  the  senators  pass  along  the  Quay  Malaquais,  in  violet  vel- 
vet cloaks  studded  with  bees,  and  wearing  Henri  IV.  hats  ; 
they  were  hideous  and  looked  like  the  apes  of  the  tigers'  court. 
Citizens,  I  declare  to  you  that  your  progress  is  a  madness,  that 
your  humanity  is  a  dream,  that  your  revolution  is  a  crime,  that 
your  republic  is  a  monster,  that  your  young  virgin  France 

8 


114  LES   MISERABLES. 

emerges  from  a  brothel,  and  I  sustain  it  against  you  all.  No 
matter  whether  you  are  journalists,  social  economists,  lawyers, 
and  greater  connoisseurs  of  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity, 
than  the  cut-throat  of  the  guillotine  !  I  tell  you  this  plainly, 
my  good  fellows." 

"  Parbleu  !  "  the  lieutenant  cried,  "  that  is  admirably  true  !  " 
M.  Gillenormand  interrupted  a  gesture  which  he  had  begun, 
turned  round,  gazed  intently  at  Theodule  the  lancer  between 
the  eyes,  and  said  to  him, — 
"  You  are  an  ass." 


MARIUS.  US 


BOOK  SIXTH. 


THE  CONJUNCTION  OF  TWO  STARS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    NICKNAME — MODE    OF    FORMATION    OP    FAMILY   NAMES. 

MARIUS  at  this  period  was  a  handsome  young  man  of  middle 
height,  with  very  black  hair,  a  lofty  and  intelligent  forehead, 
open  and  impassioned  nostrils,  a  sincere  and  calm  air,  and 
something  haughty,  pensive,  and  innocent  was  spread  over  his 
whole  face.  His  profile,  in  which  all  the  lines  were  rounded 
without  ceasing  to  be  firm,  had  that  Germanic  gentleness  which 
entered  France  through  Alsace  and  Lorraine,  and  that  absence 
of  angels  which  renders  it  so  easy  to  recognize  the  Sicambri 
among  the  Romans,  and  distinguishes  the  leonine  from  the 
aquiline  race.  He  had  reached  the  season  of  life  when  the 
mind  of  men  is  composed  of  depth  and  simplicity  in  nearly 
equal  proportions.  A  serious  situation  being  given,  he  had  all 
that  was  necessary  to  be  stupid,  but,  with  one  more  turn  of  the 
screw,  he  could  be  sublime.  His  manner  was  reserved,  cold, 
polite,  and  unexpansive  ;  but,  as  his  mouth  was  beautiful,  his 
lips  bright  vermilion,  and  his  teeth  the  whitest  in  the  world, 
his  smile  corrected  any  severity  in  his  countenance.  At  cer- 
tain moments,  this  chaste  forehead  and  voluptuous  smile 
offered  a  strange  contrast. 

In  the  period  of  his  greatest  need  he  remarked  that  people 
turned  to  look  at  him  when  he  passed,  and  he  hurried  away  or 
hid  himself,  with  death  in  his  soul.  He  thought  that  they 
were  looking  at  his  shabby  clothes  and  laughing  at  them  ;  but 
the  fact  is,  they  were  looking  at  his  face,  and  thinking  about 
it. 


Il6  LES  MISERABLES. 

This  silent  misunderstanding  between  himself  and  pretty 
passers-by  had  rendered  him  savage,  and  he  did  not  select  one 
from  the  simple  reason  that  he  fled  from  all.  He  lived  thus 
indefinitely — stupidly,  said  Courfeyrac,  who  also  added, — 
"  Do  not  aspire  to  be  venerable,  and  take  one  bit  of  advice, 
my  dear  fellow.  Do  not  read  so  many  books,  and  look  at  the 
wenches  a  little  more,  for  they  have  some  good  about  them. 
Oh,  Marius  !  you  will  grow  brutalized  if  you  go  on  shunning 
women  and  blushing." 

On  other  occasions,  Courfeyrac,  when  he  met  him,  would 
say,  "  Good  morning,  Abbe." 

When  Courfeyrac  had  made  any  remark  of  thia  nature, 
Marius  for  a  whole  week  would  shun  women,  young  and  old, 
more  than  ever,  and  Courfeyrac  in  the  bargain.  There  were, 
however,  in  the  whole  immense  creation,  two  women  whom 
Marius  did  not  shun,  or  to  whom  he  paid  no  attention.  To  tell 
the  truth,  he  would  have  been  greatly  surprised  had  any  one 
told  him  that  they  were  women.  One  was  the  hairy-faced  old 
woman  who  swept  his  room,  and  induced  Courfeyrac  to  re- 
mark,— "  Seeing  that  his  servant  wears  her  beard,  Marius  does 
not  wear  his  ; "  the  other  was  a  young  girl  whom  he  saw  very 
frequently  and  did  not  look  at. 

For  more  than  a  year  Marius  had  noticed  in  a  deserted  walk 
of  the  Luxembourg,  the  one  which  is  bordered  by  the  Parapet 
de  la"  Pepini&re,  a  man  and  a  very  young  lady  nearly  always 
seated  side  by  side  at  the  most  solitary  end  of  the  walk,  near 
the  Rue  de  1'Ouest.  Whenever  that  accident,  which  mingles 
with  the  promenades  of  people  whose  eye  is  turned  inwards, 
led  Marius  to  this  walk,  and  that  was  nearly  daily,  he  met  this 
couple  again.  The  man  seemed  to  be  about  sixty  years  of  age ; 
he  appeared  sad  and  serious,  and  the  whole  of  his  person 
offered  the  robust  and  fatigued  appearance  of  military  men  who 
have  retired  from  service.  If  he  had  worn  a  decoration, 
Marius  would  have  said,  "  He  is  an  old  officer."  He  looked 
kind,  but  unapproachable,  and  never  fixed  his  eye  on  that  of 
another  person.  He  wore  blue  trousers,  a  coat  of  the  same 
color,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  all  of  which  were  constantly 
new,  a  black  cravat,  and  a  quaker's,  that  is  to  say,  dazzlingly 
white,  but  very  coarse  shirt.  A  grisette  who  passed  him  one 
day  said,  "  What  a  clean  old  widower."  His  hair  was  very 
white. 

The  first  time  that  the  young  lady  who  accompanied  him  sat 
down  with  him  upon  the  bench  which  they  seemed  to  have 
adopted,  she  was  about  thirteen  or  fourteen,  so  thin  as  to  be 


MARIUS.  117 

almost  ugly,  awkward,  insignificant,  and  promising  to  have 
perhaps  very  fine  eyes  some  day,  still  they  were  always  raised 
to  the  old  gentleman  with  a  species  of  displeasing  assurance. 
She  wore  the  garb  at  once  old  and  childish,  of  boarders  at  a 
convent, — a  badly-cut  dress  of  coarse  black  merino.  They 
looked  like  father  and  mother. 

Marius  examined  for  two  or  three  days  the  old  man,  who 
was  not  yet  aged,  and  this  little  girl,  who  was  not  yet  a 
maiden,  and  then  paid  no  further  attention  to  them.  They,  on 
their  side,  seemed  not  even  to  see  him,  and  talked  together 
with  a  peaceful  and  careless  air.  The  girl  talked  incessantly 
and  gayly,  the  old  man  spoke  but  little,  and  at  times  he 
fixed  upon  her  eyes  filled  with  ineffable  paternity. 

Marius  had  formed  the  mechanical  habit  of  walking  in  this 
alley,  and  invariably  found  them  there. 

This  is  how  matters  went  on  : 

Marius  generally  arrived  by  the  end  of  the  walk  furthest 
from  the  bench ;  he  walked  the  whole  length,  passed  them, 
then  turned  back  to  the  end  by  which  he  had  arrived,  and  be- 
gan again.  He  took  this  walk  five  or  six  times  nearly  every 
day  in  the  week,  but  these  persons  and  himself  never  even  ex- 
changed a  bow.  The  man  and  the  girl,  though  they  appeared, 
and  perhaps  because  they  appeared,  to  shun  observation,  had 
naturally  aroused  to  some  little  extent  the  attention  of  some 
students,  who  walked  from  time  to  time  along  La  Pepinie're ; 
the  studious  after  lectures,  the  others  after  their  game  of  bil- 
liards. Courfeyrac,  who  belonged  to  the  latter,  had  watched 
them  for  some  time,  but  finding  the  girl  ugly,  he  got  away 
from  them  very  rapidly,  firing  at  them  like  Parthian  a  sobri- 
quet. Being  solely  struck  by  the  dress  of  the  girl  and  the  old 
man's  hair,  he  christened  the  former  Mile.  Lanoire,  and  the 
father  Monsieur  Leblanc,  so  that,  as  no  one  knew  them  other- 
wise, this  name  adhered  to  them  in  the  absence  of  a  better  one. 
The  students  said,  "  Ah,  M.  Leblanc  is  at  his  bench,"  and 
Marius,  like  the  rest,  found  it  convenient  to  call  this  strange 
gentleman  M.  Leblanc. 

We  will  follow  their  example. 

Marius  saw  them  nearly  daily,  at  the  same  hour,  during  a 
year ;  he  considered  the  man  agreeable,  but  the  girl  rather 
dull. 


Il8  LES  MISERABLES. 


CHAPTER  II. 

LUX  FACTA  EST. 

IN  the  second  year,  just  at  the  point  of  our  story  which  the 
reader  has  now  reached,  it  happened  that  Marius  broke  off  his 
daily  walk  in  the  Luxembourg,  without  exactly  knowing  why, 
and  was  nearly  six  months  without  setting  foot  in  the  garden. 
One  day,  however,  he  returned  to  it ;  it  was  a  beauteous  sum- 
mer's day,  and  Marius  was  joyous  as  men  are  when  the  weather 
is  fine.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  in  his  heart  all  the  birds'  songs 
that  he  heard,  and  all  the  patches  of  blue  sky,  of  which  he 
caught  a  glimpse  between  the  leaves. 

He  went  straight  to  "  his  "  walk,  and  when  he  reached  the 
end  he  noticed  the  well-known  couple  seated  on  the  same  bench, 
but  when  he  drew  near  he  found  that,  while  it  was  the  same 
man,  it  did  not  seem  to  be  the  same  girl.  The  person  he  now 
saw  was  a  tall  and  lovely  creature,  possessing  the  charming 
outlines  of  the  woman,  at  the  precise  moment  when  they  are 
still  combined  with  the  most  simple  graces  of  the  child — a 
fugitive  and  pure  moment  which  can  alone  be  rendered  by  the 
two  words  "  fifteen  years."  He  saw  admirable  auburn  hair, 
tinted  with  gilt  veins,  a  forehead  that  seemed  made  of  marble, 
cheeks  that  seemed  made  of  a  rose-leaf,  and  of  a  pale  carna- 
tion hue,  an  exquisite  mouth,  from  which  a  smile  issued  like  a 
flash,  and  words  like  music,  and  a  head  which  Raffaelle  would 
have  given  to  a  Virgin,  set  upon  a  neck  which  Goujon  would 
have  given  to  a  Venus.  And,  that  nothing  might  be  wanting  in 
this  ravishing  face,  the  nose  was  not  beautiful,  but  pretty,  neither 
straight  nor  bent,  neither  Italian  nor  Greek,  it  was  the  Parisian 
nose,  that  is  to  say,  something  witty,  fine,  irregular,  and  pure, 
which  is  the  despair  of  painters  and  the  charm  of  poets. 

When  Marius  passed  her  he  could  not  see  her  eyes,  which 
she  constantly  drooped  ;  he  only  saw  her  long  lashes,  which  re- 
vealed modesty. 

This  did  not  prevent  the  lovely  girl  from  smiling  while  she 
listened  to  the  white-haired  man  who  was  speaking  to  her,  and 
nothing  could  be  so  ravishing  as  this  fresh  smile  with  the  down- 
cast eyes. 


MARIUS.  1 19 

At  the  first  moment  Marius  thought  it  was  another  daugh- 
ter of  tlie  old  gentleman's,  a  sister  of  the  former.  But  when 
the  invariable  habit  of  his  walk  brought  him  again  to  the  bench, 
and  he  examined  her  attentively,  he  perceived  that  it  was  the 
same  girl.  In  six  months  the  girl  had  become  a  maiden,  that 
was  all,  and  nothing  is  more  frequent  than  this  phenomenon. 
There  is  a  moment  in  which  girls  become  roses  instantly, — yes- 
terday you  left  them  children,  to-day  you  find  them  objects  of 
anxiety. 

This  girl  had  not  only  grown,  but  was  idealized ;  as  three 
days  in  April  suffice  to  cover  some  trees  with  flowers,  six  months 
had  sufficed  to  clothe  her  with  beauty — her  April  had  ar- 
rived. 

We  sometimes  see  poor  and  insignificant  persons  suddenly 
wake  up,  pass  from  indigence  to  opulence,  lay  out  money  in  all 
sorts  of  extravagance,  and  become  brilliant,  prodigal,  and 
magnificent.  The  reason  is  that  they  have  just  received  their 
dividends; 'and  the  girl  had  been  paid  six  months' income. 

And  then  she  was  no  longer  the  boarding-school  miss,  with 
her  plush  bonnet,  merino(dress,  thick  shoes,  and  red  hands  ;  taste 
had  come  to  her  with  beauty,  and  she  was  well  dressed,  with 
a  species  of  simple,  rich,  and  unaffected  elegance.  She  wore  a 
black  brocade  dress,  a  cloak  of  the  same  material,  and  a  white 
crape  bonnet ;  her  white  gloves  displayed  the  elegance  of  her 
hand,  which  was  playing  with  the  ivory  handle  of  a  parasol, 
and  her  satin  boot  revealed  the  smallness  of  her  foot ;  when 
you  passed  her,  her  whole  toilette  exhaled  a  youthful  and  pene- 
trating perfume. 

As  for  the  man,  he  was  still  the  same. 

The  second  time  that  Marius  passed,  the  girl  raised  her  eye- 
lids, and  he  could  see  that  her  eyes  were  of  a  deep  coerulean 
blue,  but  in  this  veiled  azure  there  was  only  the  glance  of  a 
child.  She  looked  at  Marius  carelessly,  as  she  would  have 
looked  at  the  child  playing  under  the  sycamores,  or  the  marble 
vase  that  threw  a  shadow  over  the  bench ;  and  Marius  con- 
tinued his  walk,  thinking  of  something  else. 

He  passed  the  bench  four  or  five  times,  but  did  not  once  turn 
his  eyes  toward  the  young  lady. 

On  the  following  days  he  returned  as  usual  to  the  Luxem- 
bourg :  as  usual  he  found  the  "  father  and  daughter  "  there,  but 
he  paid  no  further  attention  to  them.  He  thought  no  more  of 
the  girl  now  that  she  was  lovely  than  he  had  done  when  she 
was  ugly,  and  though  he  always  passed  very  close  to  the  bench 
on  which  she  was  sitting,  it  was  solely  the  result  of  habit. 


LES  MISERABLES. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  EFFECT  OF  SPRING. 

ONE  day  the  air  was  warm,  the  Luxembourg  was  inundated 
with  light  and  shade,  the  sky  was  as  pure  as  if  the  angels  had 
washed  it  that  morning,  the  sparrows  were  twittering  shrilly  in 
the  foliage  of  the  chestnut  trees,  and  Marius  opened  his  whole 
soul  to  nature.  He  was  thinking  of  nothing,  he  loved  and 
breathed,  he  passed  by  the  bench,  the  young  lady  raised  her 
eyes  to  him,  and  their  two  glances  met. 

What  was  there  this  time  in  her  look  ?  Marius  could  not 
have  said, — there  was  nothing  and  there  was  every  thing,  it 
was  a  strange  flash. 

She  let  her  eyes  fall,  and  he  continued  his  walk. 

What  he  had  just  seen  was  not  the  simple  and  ingenuous  eye 
of  a  child,  but  a  mysterious  gulf,  the  mouth  of  which  had  opened 
and  then  suddenly  closed  again. 

There  is  a  day  on  which  every  maiden  looks  in  this  way,  and 
woe  to  the  man  on  whom  her  glance  falls  ! 

This  first  glance  of  a  soul  which  does  not  yet  know  itself  is 
like  dawn  in  the  heavens;  it  is  the  awakening  of  something 
radiant  and  unknown.  Nothing  could  render  the  mysterious 
charm  of  this  unexpected  flash  which  suddenly  illumines  the 
adorable  darkness,  and  fs  composed  of  all  the  innocence  of  the 
present  and  all  the  passion  of  the  future.  It  is  a  sort  of  unde- 
cided tenderness,  which  reveals  itself  accidently  and  waits  ;  it 
is  a  snare  which  innocence  sets  unconsciously,  and  in  which  it 
captures  hearts  without  wishing  or  knowing  it.  It  is  a  virgin 
who  looks  at  you  like  a  woman. 

It  is  rare  for  a  profound  reverie  not  to  spring  up  wherever 
this  fame  falls  ;  all  purity  and  all  candor  are  blended  in  this 
heavenly  and  fatal  beam,  which  possesses,  more  than  the  best- 
managed  ogles  of  coquettes,  the  magic  power  of  suddenly  caus- 
ing that  dangerous  flower,  full  of  perfume  and  poisen,  called 
love,  suddenly  to  expand  in  the  soul. 

On  returning  to  his  garret  in  the  evening,  Marius  took  a 
glance  at  his  clothes,  and  perceived  for  the  first  time  that  he 
ha4  been  guilty  of  the  extraordinary  impropriety  and  stupidity 


MARIUS.  121 

of  walking  in  the  Luxembourg  in  his  "  every-day  dress,"  that 
is  to  say,  with  a  broken-brimmed  hat,  clumsy  boots,  black 
trousers,  white  at  the  knees,  and  a  black  coat  pale  at  the 
elbows. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

COMMENCEMENT  OF  A  GREAT  DISTEMPER. 

THE  next  day,  at  the  accustomed  hour,  Marius  took  out  x)f 
the  drawers  his  new  coat,  his  new  trousers,  his  new  hat,  and 
his  new  boots  ;  he  dressed  himself  in  this  complete  panoply,  put 
on  gloves,  an  extraordinary  luxury,  and  went  off  to  the  Luxum- 
bourg. 

On  the  road  he  met  Courfeyrac,  and  pretended  not  to  see 
him.  Courfeyrac  on  reaching  home  said  to  his  friends, — 

"  I  have  just  met  Marius'  new  hat  and  new  coat  and  Marius 
inside  them.  He  was  going,  I  fancy,  to  pass  some  examina- 
tion, for  he  looked  so  stupid." 

On  reaching  the  Luxembourg  Marius  walked  round  the 
basin  and  gazed  at  the  swans ;  then  he  stood  for  a  long  time 
contemplating  a  statue  all  black  with  mould,  and  which  had 
lost  one  hip.  Near  the  basin  was  a  comfortable  bourgeois  of 
about  forty,  holding  by  the  hand  a  little  boy,  and  saying  to  him, 
— "  Avoid  all  excesses,  my  son ;  keep  at  an  equal  distance  from 
despotism  and  anarchy."  Marius  listened  to  this  bourgeois,  then 
walked  once  again  round  the  basin,  and  at  length  proceeded 
toward  "  his"  walk  slowly,  and  as  if  regretfully.  He  seemed 
to  be  at  once  forced  and  prevented  from  going,  but  he  did  not 
explain  this  to  himself,  and  fancied  he  was  behaving  as  he  did 
every  day. 

On  turning  into  the  walk  he  saw  M.  Leblanc  and  the  young 
lady  at  the  other  end,  seated  on  "  their"  bench.  He  buttoned 
up  his  coat  to  the  top,  pulled  it  down  so  that  it  should  make  no 
creases,  examined  with  some  complacency  the  lustre  of  his 
trousers,  and  marched  upon  the  bench.  There  was  attack  in 
this  march,  and  assuredly  a  desire  for  conquest,  and  hence  I 
say  that  he  marched  upon  this  bench,  as  I  would  say  Hannibal 
marched  on  Rome. 

Still,  all  his  movements  were  mechanical,  and  he  had  not  in 
any  way  altered  the  habitual  preoccupation  of  his  mind  and 
labors.  He  was  thinking  at  this  moment  that  the  "Manuel 


122  LES   MISERABLES. 

des  Baccalaureat"  was  a  stupid  book,  and  that  it  must  have 
been  edited  by  wondrous  ignoramuses,  who  analyzed  as  master- 
pieces of  the  human  mind  three  tragedies  of  Racine  and  only 
one  comedy  of  Moliere.  He  had  a  shrill  whistling  in  his  ear, 
and  while  approaching  the  bench,  he  pulled  down  his  coat,  and 
his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  maiden.  He  fancied  that  she  filled 
the  whole  end  of  the  walk  with  a  vague  blue  light. 

As  he  drew  nearer  his  pace  gradually  decreased.  On  com- 
ing within  a  certain  distance  of  the  bench,  though  still  some 
distance  from  the  end  of  the  walk,  he  stopped,  and  did  not 
know  how  it  was  that  he  turned  back.  The  young  lady  was 
scarce  able  to  notice  him,  and  see  how  well  he  looked  in  his 
new  suit.  Still  he  held  himself  very  erect,  for  fear  any  one  be- 
hind might  be  looking  at  him. 

He  reached  the  opposite  end,  then  returned,  and  this  time 
approached  a  little  nearer  to  the  bench.  He  even  got  within  the 
distance  of  three  trees,  but  then  he  felt  an  impossibility  of  going 
further,  and  hesitated.  He  fancied  he  could  see  the  young 
lady's  face  turn  toward  him  ;  however,  he  made  a  masculine, 
violent  effort,  subdued  his  hesitation,  and  continued  to  advance. 
A  few  moments  after  he  passed  in  front  of  the  bench,  upriglit 
and  firm,  but  red  up  to  the  ears,  and  not  daring  to  take  a  glance 
either  to  the  right  or  left,  and  with  his  hand  thrust  into  his  coat 
like  a  statesman.  At  the  moment  when  he  passed  under  the 
guns  of  the  fort  he  felt  his  heart  beat  violently.  She  was 
dressed  as  on  the  previous  day,  and  he  heard  an  ineffable  voice 
which  must  "  be  her  voice."  She  was  talking  quietly,  and  was 
very  beautiful ;  he  felt  it,  though  he  did  not  attempt  to  look  at 
her,  "  and  yet,"  he  thought,  "  she  could  not  fail  to  have  esteem 
and  consideration  for  me  if  she  knew  that  I  am  the  real  author 
of  the  dissertation  on  Marcos  Obregon  de  La  Honda,  which  M. 
Fran9ois  de  Neufchateau  appropriated,  and  made  a  preface  to 
his  edition  of  Gil  Bias." 

He  passed  the  bench,  went  to  the  end  of  the  walk  which  was 
close  by,  then  turned  and  again  passed  the  young  lady.  This 
time  he  was  very  pale,  and  his  feelings  were  most  disagreeable. 
He  went  away  from  the  bench  and  the  maiden,  and  while  turn- 
ing his  back  he  fancied  that  she  wras  looking  at  him,  and  this 
made  him  totter. 

He  did  not  again  attempt  to  pass  the  bench  ;  he  stopped  at 
about  the  middle  of  the  walk  and  then  sat  down,  a  most  un- 
usual thing  for  him,  taking  side  glances,  and  thinking  in  the 
innermost  depths  of  his  mind  that  after  all  it  was  difficult  for  a 


MARIUS.  123 

person  whose  white  bonnet  and  black  dress  he  admired  to  be 
absolutely  insensible  to  his  showy  trousers  and  new  coat. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  rose,  as  if  about  to 
walk  toward  this  bench  which  was  surrounded  by  a  glory,  but 
he  remained  motionless.  For  the  first  time  in  fifteen  months 
he  said  to  himself  that  the  gentleman  who  sat  there  daily  with 
his  daughter  must  have  noticed  him,  and  probably  considered 
his  assiduity  strange. 

For  the  first  time,  too,  he  felt  it  was  rather  irreverent  to 
designate  this  stranger,  even  in  his  own  thoughts,  by  the  nick- 
name of  M.  Leblanc. 

He  remained  thus  for  some  minutes  with  hanging  head, 
making  sketches  in  the  sand  with  the  stick  he  held  in  his  hand. 

Then  he  suddenly  turned  in  the  direction  opposed  to  the 
bench  and  went  home. 

That  day  he  forgot  to  go  to  dinner;  he  noticed  the  fact  at 
eight  in  the  evening,  and,  as  it  was  too  late  to  go  to  the  Rue 
St.  Jacques,  he  ate  a  lump  of  bread. 

He  did  not  go  to  bed  till  he  had  brushed  and  carefully  folded 
up  his  coat. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MAME   BOUGON   IS   THUNDER-STRUCK. 

THE  next  day,  Mame  Bougon — it  was  thus  that  Courfeyrac 
called  the  old  porteress,  principal  lodger,  and  charwoman,  of 
No.  50-52,  though  her  real  name  was  Madame  Bourgon,  as  we 
have  stated,  but  that  scamp  of  a  Courfeyrac  respected  nothing 
— Mame  Bougon,  to  her  stupefaction,  noticed  that  Marius  again 
went  out  in  his  best  coat. 

He  returned  to  the  Luxembourg,  but  did  not  go  beyond  his 
half-way  bench ;  he  sat  down  there,  as  on  the  previous  day, 
regarding  from  a  distance,  and  seeing  distinctly,  the  white 
bonnet,  the  black  dress,  and,  above  all,  the  blue  radiance.  He 
did  not  move  or  return  home  till  the  gates  of  the  Luxembourg 
were  closed.  He  did  not  see  M.  Leblanc  and  his  daughter  go 
away,  and  hence  concluded  that  they  left  the  garden  by  the 
gate  in  the  Rue  de  1'Ouest.  Some  weeks  after,  when  reflect- 
ing on  the  subject,  he  could  never  remember  where  he  dined 
that  day. 

On  the  next  day,  the  third,  Mame  Bougon  received  another 


124  LES   MISERABLES. 

thunder-stroke ;  Marius  went  out  in  his  new  coat.  "  Three 
days  running !  "  she  exclaimed. 

She  tried  to  follow  him,  but  Marius  walked  quickly,  and 
with  immense  strides ;  it  was  a  hippopotamus  attempting  to 
catch  up  a  chamois.  She  lost  him  out  of  sight  in  two  minutes, 
and  went  back  panting,  three  parts  choked  by  her  asthma,  and 
furious.  "  What  sense  is  there,"  she  growled,  "  in  putting  on 
one's  best  coat  every  day,  and  making  people  run  like  that ! " 

Marius  had  gone  to  Luxembourg,  where  M.  Leblanc  and  the 
young  lady  were  already.  Marius  approached  as  near  to  them 
as  he  could,  while  pretending  to  read  his  book,  though  still  a 
long  distance  off,  and  then  sat  down  on  his  bench,  where  he 
spent  four  hours  in  watching  the  sparrows,  which  he  fancied 
were  ridiculing  him,  hopping  about  in  the  walk. 

A  fortnight  passed  in  this  way  ;  Marius  no  longer  went  to 
the  Luxembourg  to  walk,  but  always  to  sit  down  at  the  same 
spot,  without  knowing  why.  He  every  morning  put  on  his 
new  coat,  although  he  did  not  show  himself,  and  began  again 
on  the  morrow. 

She  was,  decidedly,  marvellously  beautiful ;  the  sole  remark 
resembling  a  criticism  that  could  be  made  was,  that  the  con- 
tradiction between  her  glance,  which  was  sad,  and  her  smile, 
which  was  joyous,  gave  her  face  a  slightly  startled  look,  which 
at  times  caused  this  gentle  face  to  become  strange  without  ceas- 
ing to  be  charming. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TAKEN    PRISONER. 

ON  one  of  the  last  days  of  the  second  week  Marius  was  as 
usual  seated  on  his  bench,  holding  in  his  hand  an  open  book  in 
which  he  had  not  turned  a  page  for  several  months,  when  he 
suddenly  started — an  event  was  occurring  at  the  end  of  the 
walk.  M.  Leblanc  had  left  their  bench,  the  girl  was  holding 
her  father's  arm,  and  both  were  proceeding  slowly  toward  the 
middle  of  the  walk  where  Marius  was.  He  shut  his  book, 
then  opened  it  again  and  tried  to  read,  but  he  trembled,  and 
the  glory  came  straight  toward  him.  "  Oh,  heaven  ! "  he 
thought,  "I  shall  not  have  the  time  to  throw  myself  into  an 
attitude."  The  white-haired  man  and  the  girl,  however,  ad- 
vanced ;  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  this  endured  a  century,  and 


MARIUS.  12$ 

was  only  a  .second.  "  What  do  they  want  here?"  he  asked 
himself.  "  What !  she  is  going  to  pass  here ;  her  feet  will 
tread  this  sand,  this  walk,  two  paces  from  me?"  He  was 
quite  upset,  he  would  have  liked  to  have  been  very  handsome, 
and  have  the  cross.  He  heard  the  soft  measured  sound  of  their 
footsteps  approaching  him,  and  he  imagined  that  M.  Leblanc 
was  taking  a  wry  glance  at  him.  "  Is  this  gentleman  going  to 
speak  to  me?"  he  thought.  He  hung  his  head,  and  when  he 
raised  it  again  they  were  close  to  him.  The  girl  passed,  and 
in  passing  looked  at  him, — looked  at  him  intently,  with  a 
thoughtful  gentleness  which  made  Marius  shudder  from  head 
to  foot.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  she  reproached  him  for  keep- 
ing away  from  her  so  long,  and  was  saying,  "  I  have  come  in- 
stead." Marius  was  dazzled  by  these  eyeballs  full  of  beams 
and  abysses. 

He  felt  that  his  brain  was  on  fire.  She  had  come  toward 
him,  what  joy!, and  then,  she  had  looked  at  him.  She  ap- 
peared to  him  lovelier  than  she  had  ever  been,  lovely  with  a 
beauty  at  once  feminine  and  angelic,  a  perfect  beauty,  which 
would  have  made  Petrarch  sing  and  Dante  kneel.  He  felt  as 
if  he  were  floating  in  the  blue  sky,  but,  at  the  same  time,  he 
was  horribly  annoyed  because  he  had  dust  on  his  boots,  and  he 
felt  sure  that  she  had  looked  at  his  boots  too. 

He  looked  after  her  till  she  disappeared,  and  then  walked 
about  the  garden  like  a  maniac.  He  probably  at  times  laughed 
to  himself  and  talked  along.  He  was  so  thoughtful  among  the 
nurse  girls  that  each  of  them  fancied  him  in  love  with  her. 

He  met  Courfeyrac  under  the  arcades  of  the  Pantheon,  and 
said  to  him,  "  Come  and  dine  with  me."  They  went  to 
Rousseau's  and  spent  six  francs.  Marius  ate  like  an  ogre,  and 
gave  six  sous  to  the  waiter.  After  dinner  he  said  to  Cour- 
feyrac, "  Have  you  read  the  papers  ?  what  a  fine  speech  Audry 
de  Puyraveau  made!" 

He  was  distractedly  in  love. 

He  then  said  to  Courfeyrac,  "  Let  us  go  to  the  theatre, — I'll 
pay."  They  went  to  the  Porte  St.  Martin  to  see  Frederick  in 
the  •'  Auberge  des  Adrets,"  and  Marius  was  mightily  amused. 

At  the  same  time  he  became  more  virtuous  than  ever.  On 
leaving  the  theatre  lie  refused  to  look  at  the  garter  of  a  dress- 
maker who  was  striding  across  a  gutter,  and  Courfeyrac  hap- 
pening to  say,  "  I  should  like  to  place  that  woman  in  my 
collection,"  he  almost  felt  horrified. 

Courfeyrac  invited  him  to  breakfast  next  morning  at  the 
Cafe  Voltaire.  He  went  there,  and  ate  even  more  than  on 


126  LES   MISERABLES. 

the  previous  day.  He  was  thoughtful  and  very  gay,  and 
seemed  to  take  every  opportunity  to  laugh  noisily.  A  party 
of  students  collected  round  the  table  and  spoke  of  the  absurd- 
ities paid  for  by  the  state,  which  are  produced  from  the  pul- 
pit of  the  Sorbonne,  and  then  the  conversation  turned  to  the 
faults  and  gaps  in  dictionaries.  Marius  interrupted  the  dis- 
cussion by  exclaiming,  "And  yet  it  is  very  agreeable  to  have 
the  cross." 

"  That  is  funny  !  "  Courferyac  whispered  to  Jean  Prouvarie. 

"  No,  it  is  serious,"  the  other  answered. 

It  was  in  truth  serious ;  Marius  had  reached  that  startling 
and  charming  hour  which  commences  great  passions. 

A  look  had  effected  all  this. 

When  the  mine  is  loaded,  when  the  fire  is  ready,  nothing 
is  more  simple,  and  a  glance  is  a  spark. 

It  was  all  over.  Marius  loved  a  woman,  and  his  destiny 
was  entering  the  unknown. 

The  glance  of  a  woman  resembles  certain  wheels  which  are 
apparently  gentle  but  are  formidable :  you  daily  pass  by  their 
side  with  impunity,  and  without  suspecting  any  thing,  and  the 
moment  arrives  when  you  even  forget  that  the  thing  is  there. 
You  come,  you  go,  you  dream,  you  speak,  you  laugh,  and 
all  in  a  minute  you  feel  yourself  caught,  and  it  is  all  over  with 
you.  The  wheel  holds  you,  the  glance  has  caught  you  ;  it  has 
caught,  no  matter  where  or  how,  by  some  part  of  your  thought 
which  dragged  after  you,  or  by  some  inattention  on  your  part. 
You  are  lost,  and  your  whole  body  will  be  drawn  in ;  a  series 
of  mysterious  forces  seizes  you,  and  you  struggle  in  vain,  for 
human  aid  is  no  longer  possible.  You  pass  from  cog-wheel  to 
cog-wheel,  from  agony  to  agony,  from  torture  to  torture — you 
and  your  mind,  your  fortune,  your  future,  and  your  soul ;  and, 
according  as  you  are  in  the  power  of  a  wicked  creature  or  of  a 
noble  heart,  you  will  issue  from  this  frightful  machinery  either 
disfigured  by  shame  or  transfigured  by  passion. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ADVENTURES  OP  THE  LETTER  U  ABANDONED  TO  CONJEC- 
TURE. 

ISOLATION,    pride,  independence,  a  taste  for  nature,  the  ab- 
sence of  daily  and  material  labor,  the  soul-struggles  a  chastity, 


MARIUS.  127 

and  his  benevolent  ecstasy  in  the  presence  of  creation,  had  pre- 
pared Marius  for  that  possession  which  is  called  passion. 
His  reverence  for  his  father  had  gradually  become  a  religion, 
and,  like  all  religions,  withdrew  into  the  depths  of  the  soul : 
something  was  wanting  for  the  fore-ground,  and  love  came. 

A  whole  month  passed,  during,  which  Marius  went  daily  to 
the  Luxembourg  :  when  the  hour  arrived  nothing  could  stop 
him.  "  He  is  on  duty,"  Courfeyrac  said.  Marius  lived  in 
ravishment,  and  it  is  certain  that  the  young  lady  looked  at 
him. 

In  the  end  he  had  grown  bolder,  and  went  nearer  the 
bench  ;  still  he  did  not  pass  in  front  of  it,  obeying  at  once 
the  timid  instincts  and  prudent  instincts  of  lovers.  He  thought 
it  advisable  not  to  attract  the  father's  attention,  and  hence 
arranged  his  stations '  behind  trees  and  the  pedestals  of 
statues,  with  profound  Machiavellism,  so  as  to  be  seen  as 
much  as  possible  by  the  young  lady  and  as  little  as  possible  by 
the  old  gentleman.  At  times  he  would  be  standing  for  half 
an  hour  motionless  in  the  shadow  of  some  Leonidas  or  Spar- 
tacus,  holding  in  one  hand  a  book,  over  which  his  eyes, 
gently  raised,  sought  the  lovely  girl,  and  she,  for  her  part, 
turned  her  charming  profile  toward  him  with  a  vague  smile. 
While  talking  most  naturally  and  quietly  with  the  white- 
haired  man,  she  fixed  upon  Marius  all  the  reveries  of  a 
virginal  and  impassioned  glance.  It  is  an  old  and  immemorial 
trick  which  Eve  knew  from  the  first  day  of  the  world,  and 
which  every  woman  knows  from  the  first  day  of  her  life.  Her 
mouth  replied  to  the  one  and  her  eye  answered  the  other. 

It  must  be  supposed,  however,  that  M.  Leblanc  eventually 
noticed  something,  for  frequently  when  Marius  arrived  he  got 
up  and  began  walking.  He  left  their  accustomed  seat,  and 
adopted  at  the  other  end  of  the  walk  the  bench  close  to  the 
Gladiator,  as  if  to  see  whether  Marius  would  follow  them. 
Marius  did  not  understand  it,  and  .committed  this  fault.  "  The 
father  "  began  to  become  unpunctual,  and  no  longer  brought 
his  "daughter"  everyday.  At  times  he  came  alone,  and  then 
Marius  did  not  stop,  and  this  was  another  fault. 

Marius  paid  no  attention  to  these  symptoms  :  from  the  timid 
phase  he  had  passed  by  a  natural  and  fatal  progress  into  a 
blind  phase.  His  love  was  growing,  and  he  dreamed  of  it 
every  night,  and  then  an  unexpected  happiness  occurred  to  him, 
like  oil  on  fire,  and  redoubled  the  darkness  over  his  eyes. 
One  evening  at  twilight  he  found  on  the  bench  which  "M. 
Leblanc  and  his  daughter  "  had  just  quitted,  a  simple,  unem- 


128  LES   MISERABLES. 

broidered  handkerchief,  which,  however,  was  white  and  pure, 
and  seemed  to  him  to  exhale'  ineffable  odors.  He  seized  it 
with  transport,  and  noticed  that  it  was  marked  with  the  let- 
ters U.  F.  Marius  knew  nothing  about  the  lovely  girl,  neither 
her  family,  her  name,  nor  her  abode  ;  these  two  letters  were 
the  first  thing  of  hers  which  he  seized,  adorable  initials,  upon 
which  he  at  once  begun  to  erect  his  scaffolding.  U.  was 
evidently  the  Christianname  :  "  Ursule  ! "  he  thought,  "  what 
a  delicious  name ! "  He  kissed  the  handkerchief,  smelt  it, 
placed  it  on  his  heart  during  the  day,  and  at  night  upon  his 
lips  to  go  to  sleep. 

"  I  can  see  her  whole  soul !  "  he  exclaimed. 

This  handkerchief  belonged  to  the  old  gentleman,  who  had 
simply  let  it  fall  from  his  pocket. 

On  the  following  days,  when  Marius  went  to  the  Luxem- 
bourg, he  kissed  the  handkerchief,  and  pressed  it  to  his  heart. 
The  lovely  girl  did  not  understand  what  this  meant,  and  ex- 
pressed her  surprise  by  imperceptible  signs. 

"  Oh  modesty  !  "  said  Marius. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

EVEN   THE    INVALIDES    MAY   BE   LUCKY. 

SINCE  we  have  uttered  the  word  modesty,  and  as  we  conceal 
nothing,  we  are  bound  to  say,  however,  that  on  one  occasion 
"  his  Ursule  caused  him  serious  vexation  through  his  ecstasy. 
It  was  on  one  of  the  days  when  she  induced  M.  Leblanc  to  leave 
the  bench  and  walk  about.  There  was  a  sharp  spring  breeze 
which  shook  the  tops  of  the  plane  trees ;  and  father  and 
daughter,  arm  in  arm,  had  just  passed  in  front  of  Marius,  who 
rose  and  watched  them,  as  was  fitting  for  a  man  in  his  condi- 
tion. 

All  at  once  a  puff  of  wind,  more  merry  than  the  rest,  and 
probably  ordered  to  do  the  business  of  spring,  dashed  along  the 
walk,  enveloped  the  maiden  in  a  delicious  rustling  worthy  of 
the  nymphs  of  Virgil  and  the  Fauns  of  Theocritus,  and  raised 
her  dress,  that  dress  more  sacred  than  that  of  Isis,  almost  as 
high  as  her  garter.  A  leg  of  exquisite  shape  became  visible. 
Marius  saw  it,  and  he  was  exasperated  and  furious. 
•  The  maiden  rapidly  put  down  her  dress,  with  a  divinely 
startled  movement,  but  he  was  not  the  less  indignant.  There 


MARIUS. 

was  no  one  in  the  walk,  it  was  true,  but  there  might  have  been 
somebody  ;  and  if  that  somebody  had  been  there  ?  Is  such  a 
thing  conceivable  ?  what  she  has  just  done  is  horrible  !  Alas  ! 
the  poor  girl  had  done  nothing,  and  there  was  only  one  culprit, 
the  wind,  but  Marius  was  determined  to  be  dissatisfied,  and  was 
jealous  of  his  shadow ;  it  is  thus,  in  fact,  that  the  bitter  and 
strange  jealousy  of  the  flesh  is  aroused  in  the  human  heart,  and 
dominates  it,  even  unjustly.  Besides,  apart  from  his  jealousy, 
the  sight  of  this  charming  leg  was  not  at  all  agreeable  to  him, 
and  any  other  woman's  white  stocking  would  have  caused  him 
more  pleasure. 

When  "  his  Ursule,"  after  reaching  the  end  of  the  walk, 
turned  back  with  M.  Leblanc,  and  passed  in  front  of  the  bench 
on  which  Marius  was  sitting,  he  gave  her  a  stern,  savage 
glance.  The  girl  drew  herself  slightly  up,  and  raised  her  eye- 
lids, which  means,  "  Well,  what  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 

This  was  their  first  quarrel. 

Marius  had  scarce  finished  upbraiding  her  in  this  way  with 
his  eyes,  when  some  one  crossed  the  walk.  It  was  a  bending 
invalid,  all  wrinkled  and  white,  wearing  the  uniform  of  Louis 
XV.,  having  on  his  coat  the  little  oval  patch  of  red  cloth  with 
the  crossed  swords,  the  soldier's  cross  of  St.  Louis,  and,  in  ad- 
dition, decorated  with  a  coat-sleeve  in  which  there  was  no  arm, 
a  silver  chin,  and  a  wooden  leg.  Marius  fancied  he  could  no- 
tice that  this  man  had  an  air  of  satisfaction  ;  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  old  cynic,  while  hobbling  past  him,  gave  him  a  frater- 
nal and  extremely  jovial  wink,  as  if  some  accident  had  enabled 
them  to  enjoy  in  common  some  good  thing.  Why  was  this 
relic  of  Mars  so  pleased  ?  what  had  occurred  between  this 
wooden  leg  and  the  other  ?  Marius  attained  the  paroxysm  of 
jealousy.  "  He  was  perhaps  there,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  per- 
haps he  saw,"  and  he  felt  inclined  to  exterminate  the  invalid. 

With  the  help  of  time  every  point  grows  blunted,  and 
Marius'  anger  with  "  Ursule,"  though  so  just  and  legitimate, 
passed  away.  He  ended  by  pardoning  her,  but  it  was  a  mighty 
effort,  and  he  sulked  with  her  for  three  days. 

Still,  through  all  this,  and  owing  to  all  this,  his  passion  i»- 
creased,  and  became  insane. 
Q 


130  LES   MISERABLES. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AN  ECLIPSE. 

WE  have  seen  how  Marius  discovered,  or  fancied  he  had  dis- 
covered, that  her  name  was  Ursule. 

Appetite  comes  while  loving,  and  to  know  that  her  name  was 
Ursule  was  a  great  deal  already,  but  it  was  little.  In  three  or 
four  weeks  Marius  had  devoured  this  happiness  and  craved  an- 
other ;  he  wished  to  know  where  she  lived. 

He  had  made  the  first  fault  in  falling  into  the  trap  of  the 
Gladiator's  bench  ;  he  had  committed  a  second  by  not  remain- 
ing at  the  Luxembourg  when  M.  Leblanc  went  there  alone  ; 
and  he  now  committed  a  third,  an  immense  one — he  followed 
"  Ursule." 

She  lived  in  the  Rue  de  1'Ouest,  in  the  most  isolated  part,  in 
a  new  three-storied  house  of  modest  appearance. 

From  this  moment  Marius  added  to  his  happiness  of  seeing 
her  at  the  Luxembourg  the  happiness  of  following  her  home. 

His  hunger  increased,  he  kjjew  what  her  name  was,  her 
Christian  name  at  least,  the  charming,  the  real  name  of  a 
woman  ;  he  knew  where  she  lived,  and  he  now  wanted  to  know 
who  she  was. 

One  evening  after  following  them  home,  and  watching  them 
disappear  in  the  gateway,  he  went  in  after  them,  and  valiantly 
addressed  the  porter. 

"  Is  that  the  gentleman  of  the  first  floor  who  has  just  come 
in?" 

"  No,"  the  porter  answered,  "  it  is  the  gentleman  of  the 
third  floor." 

Another  step  made  !     This  success  emboldened  Marius. 

"Front?"  he  asked. 

"  Hang  it,"  said  the  porter,  "  our  rooms  all  look  on  the 
street." 

"And  what  is  the  gentleman's  position?  "  Marius  continued. 

"  He  lives  on  his  property.  He  is  a  very  good  man,  who 
does  a  deal  of  good  to  the  wretched,  though  he  is  not  rich." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  "  Marius  added. 

The  porter  raised  his  head  and  said,— 


MARIUS.  131 

"  Do  you  happen  to  be  a  police  spy,  sir  ? " 

Marius  went  off  much  abashed,  but  highly  delighted,  for  he 
was  progressing. 

"  Good,"  he  thought,  '•  I  know  that  her  name  is  Ursule,  that 
she  is  the  daughter  of  a  retired  gentleman,  and  that  she  lives 
there,  on  a  third  floor  in  the  Rue  de  1'Ouest." 

On  the  morrow  M.  Leblanc  made  but  a  short  appearance  at 
the  Luxembourg,  and  went  away  in  broad  daylight.  Marius 
followed  them  to  the  Rue  de  1'Ouest,  as  was  his  habit,  and  on 
reaching  the  gateway  M.  Leblanc  made  his  daughter  go  in  first, 
then  stopped,  turned  and  looked  intently  at  Marius.  The  next 
duy  they  did  not  come  to  the  Luxembourg,  and  Marius  waited 
in  vain  the  whole  day. 

At  nightfall,  he  went  to  the  Rue  de  1'Ouest,  and  noticed  a 
light  in  the  third-floor  windows,  and  lie  walked  about  beneath 
these  windows  till  the  light  was  extinguished. 

The  next  day  there  was  no  one  at  the  Luxembourg  ;  Marius 
waited  all  day,  and  then  went  to  keep  his  night-watch  under  the 
windows.  This  took  him  till  ten  o'clock,  and  his  dinner  be- 
came what  it  could,  for  fever  nourishes  the  sick  man  and  love 
the  lover. 

Eight  days  passed  in  this  way,  and  M.  Leblanc  and  his 
daughter  did  not  again  appear  at  the  Luxembourg,  Marius 
made  sorrowful  conjectures,  for  he  did  not  dare  watch  the  gate- 
way by  day ;  he  contented  himself  with  going  at  night  to  con- 
template the  reddish  brightness  of  the  window-panes.  He  saw 
shadows  pass  now  and  then,  and  his  heart  beat. 

On  the  eighth  day,  when  he  arrived  beneath  the  windows, 
there  was  no  light.  "  What,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  the  lamp  is 
not  lighted,  can  they  have  gone  out?"  He  waited  till  ten 
o'clock,  till  midnight,  till  one  o'clock,  but  no  light  was  kindled 
at  the  third-floor  windows,  and  nobody  entered  the  house.  He 
went  away  with  very  gloomy  thoughts. 

On  the  morrow — for  he  only  lived  from  morrow  to  morrow 
and  he  had  no  to-day,  so  to  speak — he  saw  nobody  at  the  Lux- 
embourg, as  he  expected,  and  at  nightfall  he  went  to  the  house. 
There  was  no  light  at  the  windows,  the  shutters  were  closed, 
and  the  third  floor  was  all  darkness. 

Marius  rapped,  walked  in,  and  said  to  the  porter,— 

"  The  gentleman  on  the  third  floor  ?  " 

"  Gone  away,"  the  porter  answered. 

Marius  tottered,  and  asked  feebly,— 

"  Since  when  ?  " 

u  Yesterday," 


132  LES   MISERABLES. 

"Where  is  he  living  now  ?" 
"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Then  he  did  not  leave  his  new  address  ?  " 
"  No." 

And  tlie  porter,  raising  his  nose  recognized  Marius. 
"  What?  it's  you,  is  it?  "  be  said;  "why,  you  must  really 
be  a  spy." 


MARIUS.  13  J 


BOOK  SEVENTH. 


PATRON  MINETTE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MINES  AND  MINERS. 

HUMAN  societies  have  ever  what  is  called  in  theatres  "  un 
troisieme  dessous,"  and  the  social  soil  is  everywhere  under- 
mined, here  for  good  and  there  for  evil.  These  works  are  upon 
one  another  ;  there  are  upper  mines,  and  lower  mines,  and  there 
is  a  top  and  bottom  in  this  obscure  subsoil,  which  at  times  gives 
way  beneath  the  weight  of  civilization,  and  which  our  indiffer- 
ence and  carelessness  trample  under  foot.  The  Encyclopedia 
was  in  the  last  century  an  almost  open  mine  and  the  darkness, 
that  gloomy  brooder  of  primitive  Christianity,  only  awaited  an 
occasion  to  explode  beneatli  the  Caesars  and  inundate  the  human 
race  with  light.  For  in  the  sacred  darkness  there  is  latent 
light,  and  the  volcanoes  are  full  of  a  shadow  which  is  capable 
of  flashing,  and  all  lava  begins  by  being  night.  The  catacombs 
in  which  the  first  mass  was  read  were  not  merely  the  cellar  of 
Rome  but  also  the  vault  of  the  world. 

There  are  all  sorts  of  excavation  beneath  the  social  building, 
that  marvel  complicated  by  a  hovel  ;  there  is  the  religious  mine, 
the  philosophic  mine,  the  political  mine,  the  social  economic 
mine  and  the  revolutionary  mine.  One  man  picks  with  the  idea, 
another  with  figure,  another  with  auger,  and  they  call  to  and 
answer  each  other  from  the  catacombs.  Utopias  move  in  sub- 
terranean sewers  and  ramify  in  all  directions ;  they  meet  there 
at  times  and  franternize.  Jean  Jacques  lends  his  pick  to  Diog- 
enes, who  lends  him  his  lantern  in  turn  ;  at  times,  though, 
they  fight,  and  Calvin  clutches  Socinus  by  the  hair.  Butnoth- 


JJ4  LES   MISERABLES. 

ing  arrests  or  interrupts  the  tension  of  all  their  energies  toward 
the  object,  and  the  vast  simultaneous  energy,  which  comes  and 
goes,  ascends,  decends,  and  reascends,  in  the  obscurity,  and 
which  slowly  substitutes  top  for  bottom  and  inside  for  out;  it 
is  an  immense  and  unknown  ant-heap.  Society  hardly  suspects 
this  excavation,  which  leaves  no  traces  on  its  surface  and  yet 
changes  its  entrails,  and  there  are  as  many  different  works  and 
varying  extractions  as  there  are  subterranean  adits.  What  is- 
sues from  all  these  profound  pits  ? — the  future. 

The  deeper  we  go  the  more  mysterious  the  mines  become. 
To  a  certain  point  which  the  social  philosopher  is  able  to  recog- 
nize the  labor  is  good  ;  beyond  that  point  it  is  doubtful  and 
mixed  ;  and  lower  still  it  becomes  terrible.  At  a  certain  depth 
the  excavations  can  no  longer  be  endured  by  the  spirit  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  man's  limit  of  breathing  is  passed  :  a  commencement 
of  monsters  becomes  possible,  the  decending  ladder  is  strange, 
and  each  rung  corresponds  with  a  stage-upon  which  philosophy 
can  land,  and  meet  one  of  these  miners,  who  are  sometimes 
divine,  at  others  deformed.  Below  John  Huss  there  is  Luther  ; 
below  Luther,  Descartes  ;  below  Descartes,  Voltaire  ;  below 
Voltaire,  Condorcet ;  below  Condorcet,  Robespierre  ,  below 
Robespierre  Marat ;  and  below  Marat,  Babeuf,  and  so  it  goes 
on.  Lower  still  we  notice  confusedly,  at  the  limit  which  sep- 
arates the  indistinct  from  the  invisible,  other  gloomy  men,  who 
perhaps  do  not  yet  exist ;  those  of  yesterday  are  spectres,  those 
of  the  morrow  grubs.  The  mental  eye  can  only  distinguish 
them  obscurely,  and  the  embryonic  labor  of  the  future  is  one 
of  the  visions  of  the  future. 

A  world  in  limbo  in  the  foetus  stage — what  an  extraordinary 
sketch !  Saint  Simon,  Owen,  and  Fourrier  are  also  there  in 
the  side-passages. 

Assuredly,  although  a  divine  and  invisible  chain  connects  to- 
gether without  their  cognizance  all  these  subterranean  miners, 
who  nearly  always  fancy  themselves  isolated  but  are  not  so, 
their  labors  vary  greatly,  and  the  light  of  the  one  contrasts 
with  the  dazzle  of  the  other :  some  are  paradisaic  and  others 
tragical.  Still,  however  great  the  contrast  may  be.  all  these 
laborers,  from  the  highest  to  the  most  nocturnal,  from  the 
wisest  down  to  the  maddest,  have  a  similitude  in  their  disin- 
terestedness;  they  leave  themselves  on  one  side,  omit  them- 
selves, do  not  think  of  themselves,  and  see  something  different 
from  themselves.  They  have  a  glance,  and  that  glance  seeks 
the  absolute ;  the  first  has  heaven  in  his  eyes,  and  the  last, 
however  enigmatical  he  may  be,  has  beneath  his  eyebrow  the 


MARIUS.  135 

pale  brightness  of  infinity.  Venerate  every  man,  no  matter 
what  he  may  be  doing — any  man  who  has  the  sign,  a  starry 
eyeball. 

The  dark  eyeball  is  the  other  sign,  and  with  it  evil  begins. 
Reflect  and  tremble  in  the  presence  of  the  man  who  does  not 
look,  for  social  order  has  its  black  miners. 

There  is  a  point  where  profoundity  is  burial  and  where  light 
is  extinguished. 

Below  all  these  mines  which  we  have  indicated, — below  all 
these  galleries,  below  all  this  immense  subterranean  arterial 
system  of  progress  and  Utopia,  far  deeper  in  the  ground,  below 
Marat,  below  Babeuf,  much,  much  lower,  there  is  the  last  pas- 
sage, which  has  no  connection  with  the  upper  drifts.  It  is  a 
formidable  spot,  and  what  we  termed  the  triosieme  dessous. 
It  is  the  grave  of  darkness  and  the  cave  of  the  blind,  In- 
feri,  and  communicates  with  the  abysses. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  LOWEST  DEPTH. 

HERE  disinterestedness  fades  away,  and  the  dream  is 
vaguely  sketched.  Every  one  for  himself.  The  eyeless  I  yells, 
seeks,  gropes,  and  groans  ;  the  social  Ugolino  is  in  this  gulf. 

The  ferocious  shadows  which  prowl  about  this  grave,  almost 
brutes,  almost  phantoms,  do  not  trouble  themselves  about  hu- 
man progress  ;  they  are  ignorant  of  ideas  and  language,  and 
thus  they  care  for  nought  beyond  individual  gratification. 
They  are  almost  unconscious,  and  there  is  within  them  a  spe- 
cies of  frightful  obliteration.  They  have  two  mothers,  both 
step-mothers,  ignorance  and  wretchedness  ;  they  have  for  their 
guide  want,  and  for  all  power  of  satisfaction  appetite  ;  they  are 
brutally  voracious,  that  is  to  say,  ferocious, — not  after  the  fash- 
ion of  the  tyrant,  but  that  of  the  tiger.  From  suffering  these 
grubs  pass  to  crime, — it  is  a  fatal  affiliation,  a  ghastly  propaga- 
tion, the  logic  of  darkness  ;  what  crawls  in  the  lowest  passage 
is  no  longer  the  stifled  demand  of  the  absolute,  but  the  protest 
of  matter.  Man  becomes  a  dragon  then  ;  his  starting-point  is 
to  be  hungry  and  thirsty,  and  his  terminus  to  be  Satan  :  Lace- 
naire  issued  from  this  cave. 

We  have  just  seen  one  of  the  compartments  of  the  upper 
mine,  the  great  political,  revolutionary,  and  philosophic  sap. 


136  LES   MISERABLES. 

There,  as  we  said,  all  is  noble,  pure,  worthy,  and  honest :  men 
may  be  mistaken  in  it,  and  are  mistaken,  but  the  error  must 
be  revered,  because  it  implies  so  much  heroism,  and  the  work 
performed  there  has  a  name — Progress. 

The  moment  has  now  arrived  to  take  a  glance  at  other  and 
hideous  depths. 

There  is  beneath  society,  and  there  ever  will  be,  till  the  day 
when  ignorance  is  dissipated,  the  great  cavern  of  evil. 

This  cavern  is  below  all  the  rest,  and  the  enemy  of  all  ;  it  is 
hatred  without  exception.  This  cavern  knows  no  philosophers, 
and  its  dagger  never  made  a  pen,  while  its  blackness  bears  no 
relation  with  the  sublime  blackness  of  the  inkstand-.  The 
fingers  of  night,  which  clench  beneath  this  asphyxiating  roof, 
never  opened  a  book  or  unfolded  a  newspaper.  Babeuf  is  to 
Cartouche  a  person  who  takes  advantage  of  his  knowledge,  and 
Marat  an  aristocrat  in  the  sight  of  Schinderhannes,  and  the  ob- 
ject of  this  cavern  is  the  overthrow  of  every  thing. 

Of  every  thing, — including  the  upper  levels  which  it  execra- 
tes. It  not  only  undermines  in  its  hideous  labor  the  existing 
social  order,  but  it  undermines  philosophy,  science,  the  law, 
human  thought,  civilization,  revolution,  and  progress,  and  it 
calls  itself  most  simply,  robbery,  prostitution,  murder,  and 
assassination.  It  is  darkness,  and  desires  chaos,  and  its  roof 
is  composed  of  ignorance. 

All  the  other  mines  above  it  have  only  one  object,  to  sup- 
press it ;  and  philosophy  and  progress  strive  for  this  with  all 
their  organs  simultaneously  by  the  amelioration  of  the  real,  as 
well  as  the  contemplation  of  the  ideal.  Destroy  the  cave, 
Ignorance,  and  you  destroy  the  mole,  Crime. 

Let  us  condense  in  a  few  words  a  portion  of  what  we  have 
just  written.  The  sole  social  evil  is  darkness  ;  humanity  is 
identity,  for  all  men  are  of  the  same  clay,  and  in  this  nether 
world,  at  least,  there  is  no  difference  in  predestination  ;  we  are 
the  same  shadow  before,  the  same  flesh  during,  and  the  same 
ashes  afterwards  ;  but  ignorance,  mixed  with  the  human  paste, 
blackens  it,  and  this  incurable  blackness  enters  man  and  be- 
comes Evil  there. 


MARIUS.  137 


CHAPTER  III. 

* 

BABET,  GUEULEMER,  CLAQUESOUS,  AND  MONTPARNASSE. 

A  QUARTETTE  of  bandits,  Babet,  Gueulemer,  Claquesous, 
and  Montparnasse,  governed,  from  1830  to  1835,  the  lowest 
depths  of  Paris. 

Gueulemer  was  a  Hercules  out  of  place,  and  his  den  was 
the  Arche-Marion  sewer.  He  was  six  feet  high,  had  lungs  of 
marble,  muscles  of  bronze,  the  respiration  of  a  cavern,  the  bust 
of  a  colossus,  and  a  bird's  skull.  You  fancied  you  saw  the 
Farnese  Hercules,  attired  in  ticking  trousers  and  a  cotton  vel- 
vet jacket.  Gueulemer  built  in  this  mould  might  have  sub- 
dued monsters,  but  he  had  found  it  shorter  to  be  one.  A  low 
forehead,  wide  temples,  under  forty  years  of  age,  rough  short 
hair,  and  a  bushy  beard ;  you  can  see  the  man.  His  muscles 
demanded  work,  and  his  stupidity  would  not  accept  it :  he  was 
a  great  slothful  strength,  and  an  assassin  through  nonchalance. 
People  believed  him  to  be  a  Creole,  and  he  had  probably  laid 
his  hands  upon  Marshal  Brune  when  massacred,  as  he  was  a 
porter  at  Avignon  in  1815.  From  that  stage  he  had  become  a 
bandit. 

Babet's  transparency  contrasted  with  the  meat  of  Gueule- 
mer ;  he  was  thin  and  learned, — transparent  but  impenetrable : 
you  might  see  the  light  through  his  bones,  but  not  through  his 
eyes.  He  called  himself  a  chemist,  and  had  played  in  the  vaude- 
ville at  St.  Mihiel.  He  was  a  man  of  intentions,  and  a  fine 
speaker,  who  underlined  his  smiles  and  placed  his  gestures  be- 
tween inverted  commas.  His  trade  was  to  sell  in  the  open  air 
plaster  busts  and  portraits  of  the  "  chief  of  the  state,"  and,  in 
addition,  he  pulled  teeth  out.  He  had  shown  phenomena  at  fairs, 
and  possessed  a  booth  with  a  trumpet  and  the  following  show- 
board, — " Babet,  dentist,  and  member  of  the  academies,  performs 
physical  experiments  on  metals  and  metalloids,  extirpates  teeth, 
and  undertakes  stumps  given  up  by  the  profession.  Terms, — one 
tooth,  one  franc  fifty  centimes  ;  two  teeth,  two  francs  ;  three  teeth, 
two  francs  fifty  centimes.  Take  ad  vantage  of  the  opportunity." 
(The  last  sentence  meant,  Have  as  many  teeth  pulled  out  as 
possible.)  He  was  married  and  had  children,  but  did  not 
know  what  had  became  of  wife  or  children  :  he  had  lost  them, 


138  LES   MISERABLES. 

just  as  another  man  loses  his  handkerchief.  Babet  was  a  high 
exception  in  the  obscure  world  to  which  he  belonged,  for  he 
read  the  newspapers.  One  day,  at  the  time  when  he  still  had 
his  family  with  him  in  his  caravan,  he  read  in  the  Moniteur 
that  a  woman  had  just  been  delivered  of  a  child  with  a  calf's 
snout,  arid  exclaimed,  "  There's  a  fortune !  my  wife  would  not 
have  the  sense  to  produce  me  a  child  like  that !  "  Since  then 
he  had  given  up  every  thing  to  "  undertake  Paris :  "  the  ex- 
pression is  his  own. 

What  was  Claquesous  ?  he  was  night ;  and  never  showed 
himself  till  the  sky  was  bedaubed  with  blackness.  In  tlie 
evening  he  emerged  from  a  hole,  to  which  he  returned  before 
daybreak.  Where  was  this  hole?  no  one  knew.  In  the  greatest 
darkness,  and  when  alone  with  his  accomplices,  he  turned  his 
back  when  he  spoke  to  them.  Was  his  name  Claquesous?  no  : 
he  said,  "  My  name  is  Not-at-all."  If  a  candle  were  brought  in 
he  put  on  a  mask,  and  he  was  a  ventriloquist  in  the  bargain, 
and  Babet  used  to  say,  "  Claquesous  is  a  night-bird  with  two 
voices."  Claquesous  was  vague,  wandering,  and  terrible  :  no 
one  was  sure  that  he  had  a  name,  for  Claquesous  was  a  nick- 
name ;  no  one  was  sure  that  he  had  a  voice,  for  his  stomach 
spoke  more  frequently  than  his  mouth  ;  and  no  one  was  sure 
that  he  had  a  face,  as  nothing  had  ever  been  seen  but  his 
mask.  He  disappeared  like  a  ghost,  and  when  he  appeared  he 
seemed  to  issue  from  the  ground. 

Montparnasse  was  a  mournful  being.  He  was  a  lad  not  yet 
twenty,  with  a  pretty  face,  lips  that  resembled  cherries,  beau- 
tiful black  hair,  and  the  brightness  of  spring  in  his  eyes :  he 
had  every  vice,  and  aspired  to  every  crime,  and  the  digestion 
of  evil  gave  him  an  appetite  for  worse..  He  was  the  gamin 
turned  pickpocket,  and  the  pickpocket  had  become  a  garrotter. 
He  was  genteel,  effeminate,  graceful,  robust,  active,  and  fero- 
cious. The  left-hand  brim  of  his  hat  was  turned  up  to  make 
room  for  the  tuft  of  hair,  in  the  style  of  1829.  He  lived  by 
robbery  committed  with  violence,  and  his  coat  was  cut  in  the 
latest  fashion,  though  worn  at  the  seams.  Montparnasse 
was  an  engraving  of  the  fashions,  in  a  state  of  want, 
and  committing  murders.  The  cause  of  all  the  attacks  made 
by  this  young  man  was  a  longing  to  be  well  dressed :  the  first 
grisette  who  said  to  him,  "  You  are  handsome,"  put  the  black 
spot  in  his  heart,  and  made  a  Cain  of  this  Abel.  Finding 
himself  good-looking,  he  wished  to  be  elegant,  and  the  first 
stage  of  elegance  is  idleness  :  but  the  idleness  of  the  poor  man 
is  crime.  Few  garrotters  were  so  grand  as  Montparnasse,  and 


MARIUS.  139 

at  the  age  of  eighteen  he  had  several  corpses  behind  him. 
More  than  one  wayfarer  lay  in  the  shadow  of  this  villain  with 
out  stretched  arms,  and  with  his  face  in  a  pool  of  blood. 
Curled,  pommaded,  with  his  waist  pinched  in,  the  hips  of  a 
woman,  the  bust  of  a  Prussian  officer,  the  buzz  of  admiration 
of  the  girls  of  the  boulevard  around  him,  a  carefully-tied 
cravat,  a  life-preserver  in  his  pocket,  and  a  flower  in  his  but- 
ton-hole— such  was  this  dandy  of  the  tomb. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

COMPOSITION   OF    THE   BAND. 

THESE  four  bandits  formed  a  species  of  Proteus,  winding 
through  the  police  ranks  and  striving  to  escape  the  indiscreet 
glances  of  Vidocq  "  under  various  faces,  trees,  flame,  and 
fountain,"  borrowing  each  others'  names  and  tricks,  asylums 
for  one  another,  laying  aside  their  personality  as  a  man  removes 
a  false  nose  at  a  masquerade ;  at  times  simplifying  themselves 
so  as  to  be  only  one  man,  at  others  multiplying  themselves  to 
such  an  extent  that  Coco-Latour  himself  took  them  for  a  mob. 

These  four  men  were  not  four  men  ;  they  were  a  species  of 
four-headed  robber  working  Paris  on  a  grand  scale  ;  the  mon- 
strous polype  of  evil  inhabiting  the  crypt  of  society. 

Owing  to  their  ramifications  and  the  subjacent  net-work  of 
their  relations,  Babet,  Gueulemer,  Claquesous,  and  Montpar- 
nasse  had  the  general  direction  of  all  the  villanies  in  the  de- 
partment of  the  Seine,  and  carried  out  upon  the  passer-by  the 
low-class  of  coups  d'etat.  The  finders  of  ideas  in  this  style, 
the  men  with  nocturnal  imaginations,  applied  to  them  to  exe- 
cute them  ;  the  four  villains  were  supplied  with  the  canvass, 
and  they  produced  the  scenery.  They  were  always  in  a  posi- 
tion to  supply  a  proportionate  and  pro  per  staff  for  every  robbery 
which  was  sufficiently  lucrative  and  required  a  stout  arm.  If 
a  crime  were  in  want  of  persons  to  carry  it  out,  they  sub-let 
the  accomplices,  and  they  always  had  a  band  of  actors  at  the 
service  of  all  the  tragedies  of  the  caverns. 

They  generally  met  at  nightfall,  the  hour  when  they  awoke, 
on  the  steppes  that  border  the  Salpetriere.  There  they  con- 
ferred, and,  as  they  had  the  twelve  dark  hours  before  them, 
they  settled  their  employment. 


140  LES   MISERABLES. 

Patron  Minette  was  the  name  given  in  the  subterranean 
lurking-places  to  the  association  of  these  four  men.  In  the 
old  and  fantastic  popular  language,  which  is  daily  dying  out, 
Patron  Minette  signifies  the  morning,  just  as  "  between  dog 
and  wolf"  signifies  night.  This  appelation  was  probably 
derived  from  the  hour  when  their  work  finished,  for  dawn  is 
the  moment  for  spectres  to  fade  away  and  for  bandits  to  part. 
These  four  men  were  known  by  this  title.  When  the  president 
of  the  assizes  visited  Lacenaire  in  prison,  he  questioned  him 
about  a  crime  which  the  murderer  denied.  "  Who  committed 
it  ? "  the  president  asked,  and  Lacenaire  gave  this  answer, 
which  was  enigmatical  for  the  magistrate,  but  clear  for  the 
police,  "  It  is,  perhaps,  Patron  Minette." 

The  plot  of  a  play  may  be  at  times  divined  from  the  list  of 
names  and  a  party  of  bandits  may.  perhaps,  be  appreciated  in 
the  same  way.  JHere  are  the  names  to  which  the  principle 
members  of  Patron  Minette  answered,  exactly  as  they  survive 
in  special  memoirs. 

Panchaud  called  Spring,  alias  Bigrenaille,  Brujon  (there 
was  a  dynasty  of  Brujons,  about  whom  we  may  still  say  a 
word)  ;  Boulatruelle,  the  road-rnender,  of  whom  we  have 
caught  a  glimpse ;  Laveuve ;  Finistere ;  Homer-Hogu,  a 
negro  ;  Tuesday  night ;  Make  haste  ;  Fauntleroy,  alias  Flower- 
girl  ;  Glorious,  a  liberated  convict ;  Stop  the  coach,  alias  Mon- 
sieur Dupont;  The  Southern  Esplanade;  Poussagrive  ;  Car- 
magnolet ;  Kruideniers,  alias  Bizarro ;  Lace-eater  ;  Feet  in 
the  air  ;  Half  farthing,  alias  Two  Milliards,  etc.,  etc. 

These  names  have  faces,  and  express  not  merely  beings  but 
species.  Each  of  these  names  responds  to  a  variety  of  the 
poisonous  fungi  which  grow  beneath  human  civilization. 

These  beings,  very  careful  about  showing  their  faces,  were 
not  of  those  whom  we  may  see  passing  by  day,  for  at  that  pe- 
riod, weary  of  their  night  wanderings,  they  went  to  sleep  in 
the  lime-kilns,  the  deserted  quarries  of  Montmarte  or  Mont- 
rouge,  or  even  in  the  snow.  They  ran  to  earth. 

What  has  become  of  these  men?  they  still  exist,  and  have 
ever  existed.  Horace  alludes  to  them  in  his  Ambubaiarum 
collegia,  pharmacopolce,  mend-ici,  mimi,  and  so  as  long  as  society 
is  what  it  is  they  will  be  what  they  are.  Under  the  obscure 
vault  of  their  cellar  they  are  even  born  again  from  the  social 
leakage,  they  return  as  spectres  but  ever  identical ;  the  only 
difference  is  that  they  no  longer  bear  the  same  names,  and  are 
no  longer  in  the  same  skins  ;  though  the  individuals  are  extir* 
pated,  the  tribe  exists. 


MARIUS.  141 

They  have  always  the  same  qualities,  and  from  mumper  to 
prowler,  the  race  ever  remains  pure.  They  guess  purses  in 
pockets  and  scent  watches  in  fobs  ;  and  gold  and  silver  have  a 
peculiar  smell  for  them.  There  are  simple  cits  of  whom  we 
might  say  that  they  have  a  robbable  look,  and  these  men  pa- 
tiently follow  these  cits.  When  a  foreigner  or  a  countryman 
passes  they  quiver  like  the  spider  in  its  web. 

These  men,  when  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  them  upon  a  de- 
serted boulevard  at  midnight,  are  frightful ;  they  do  not  seem 
to  be  men,  but  forms  made  of  living  fog ;  we  might  say  that 
they  are  habitually  a  portion  of  the  darkness,  that  they  are  not 
distinct,  that  they  have  no  other  soul  but  shadow,  and  that  they 
have  become  detached  from  night  momentarily,  and  in  order  to 
live  a  monstrous  life  for  a  few  moments. 

What  is  required  to  make  these  phantoms  vanish  ?  light, 
floods  of  light.  Not  a  single  bat  can  resist  the  dawn,  so  light 
up  the  lower  strata  of  society. 


142  LES   MISERABLES. 


BOOK  EIGHT. 


THE  NOXIOUS  POOR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A   MAN'S    CAP   INSTEAD    OF    A   GIRI/S    BONNET. 

SUMMER  passed  away,  then  autumn  and  winter  arrived. 
Neither  M.  Leblanc  nor  the  young  lady  had  set  foot  again  in 
the  Luxembourg,  while  Marius  had  but  one  thought,  that  of 
seeing  again  this  sweet  and  adorable  face.  He  sought  it  ever, 
he  sought  it  everywhere,  but  jfound  nothing.  He  was  no 
longer  Marius,  the  enthusiastic  dreamer,  the  resolute,  ardent, 
and  firm  man,  the  bold  challenger  of  destiny,  the  brain  that 
built  up  future  upon  future,  the  young  mind  encumbered  with 
plans,  projects,  pride,  ideas,  and  resolves, — he  was  a  lost  dog. 
He  fell  into  a  chirk  sorrow,  and  it  was  all  over  with  him;  work 
was  repulsive,  walking  fatigued  him,  and  solitude  wearied  him. 
Mighty  nature,  once  so  full  of  forms,  brightness,  voices,  coun- 
sel, perspectives,  horizons,  and  instruction,  was  now  a  vacuum 
before  him  ;  and  he  felt  as  if  every  thing  had  disappeared. 
He  still  thought,  for  he  could  not  do  otherwise,  but  no  longer 
took  pleasure  in  his  thoughts.  To  all  that  they  incessantly 
proposed  to  him  in  whispers,  he  answered  in  the  shadow, 
What  use  is  it  ?  He  made  himself  a  hundred  reproaches. 
"Why  did  I  follow  her?  I  was  so  happy  merely  in  seeing 
her  !  She  looked  •  at  me,  and  was  not  that  immense  ?  She 
looked  as  if  she  loved  me,  and  was  not  that  every  thing  ?  I 
wanted  to  have  what  ?  there  is  nothing  beyond  that,  and  I  was 
absurd.  It  is  my  fault,"  etc.,  etc.  Courfeyrac,  to  whom  he 
confided  nothing,  as  was  his  nature,  but  who  guessed  pretty 
nearly  all,  for  that  was  his  nature  too,  had  begun  by  congratu- 
lating him  on  being  in  love,  and  made  sundry  bad  jokes  about 
it.  Then,  on  seeing  Marius  in  this  melancholy  state,  he  ended 


MARIUS.  143 

by  saying  to  him,  "I  see  that  you  have  simply  been  an  ani- 
mal ;  come  to  the  Chaumiere." 

Once  putting  confidence  in  a  splendid  September  sun,  Marius 
allowed  himself  to  be  taken  to  the  ball  of  Sceaux  by  Courfey- 
rac,  Bossuet,  and  Grantaire,  hoping — what  a  dream  ! — that  he 
might  find  her  there.  Of  course  he  did  not  see  the  lady  whom 
he  sought — "  and  yet  this  is  the  place  where  all  the  lost  women 
can  be  found,"  Grantaire  growled  aside.  Marius  left  his 
friends  at  the  ball,  and  returned  a-foot,  alone,  tired,  feverish, 
with  eyes  troubled  and  sad,  in  the  night,  stunned  with  noise 
and  dust  by  the  many  vehicles,  full  of  singing  beings  who  were 
returning  from  the  holiday,  and  who  passed  him.  He  was  dis- 
couraged, and  in  order  to  relieve  his  aching  head,  inhaled  the 
sharp  smell  of  the  walnut  trees  on  the  roadside.  He  began 
living  again  more  than  ever  in  solitude,  crushed,  giving  way  to 
his  internal  agony,  walking  up  and  down  like  a  wolf  caught  in 
a  trap,  everywhere  seeking  the  absent  one,  and  brutalized  by 
love. 

Another  time  he  had  a  meeting  which  produced  a  strange 
effect  upon  him.  In  the  little  streets  adjoining  the  Boulevard 
des  Invalides  he  passed  a  man  dressed  like  a  workman,  and 
wearing  a  deep-peaked  cap,  under  which  white  locks  peered 
out.  Marius  was  struck  by  the  beauty  of  this  white  hair,  and 
looked  at  the  man,  who  was  walking  slowly,  and  as  if  absorbed 
in  painful  meditation.  Strange  to  say,  he  fancied  that  he 
could  recognize  M.  Leblanc, — it  was  the  same  hair,  the  same 
profile,  as  far  as  the  peak  allowed  him  to  see,  and  the  same  gait, 
though  somewhat  more  melancholy.  But  why  this  workman's 
clothing  ?  What  was  the  meaning  of  this  disguise  ?  Marius 
was  greatly  surprised,  and  when  he  came  to  himself  again  his 
first  impulse  was  to  follow  this  man,  for  he  might,  hold  the  clue 
which  he  had  so  long  been  seeking ;  at  any  rate,  he  must  have 
a  close  look  at  the  man,  and  clear  up  the  enigma  ;  but  he  hit 
on  this  idea  too  late,  for  the  man  was  no  longer  there.  He  had 
turned  into  some  side  street,  and  Marius  was  unable  to  find 
him  again.  This  meeting  troubled  him  for  some  days,  and 
then  faded  away.  "  After  all,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  is 
probably  only  a  resemblance." 


144  LES   MISERABLES. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MARIUS    FINDS    SOMETHING. 

MARIUS  still  lived  at  No.  50-52,  but  he  paid  no  attention  to 
his  fellow-lodgers. 

At  this  period,  in  truth,  there  were  no  other  tenants  in  the 
house  but  himself  and  those  Jondrettes  whose  rent  he  had 
once  paid,  without  ever  having  spoken  to  father,  mother,  or 
daughters.  The  other  lodgers  had  removed,  were  dead,  or 
turned  out  for  not  paying  their  rent. 

On  one  day  of  this  winter  the  sun  had  shown  itself  a  little 
during  the  afternoon,  but  it  was  Feb.  2,  that  old  Candlemas 
day,  whose  treacherous  sun,  the  precursor  of  six  weeks'  frost 
inspired  Matthew  Laensberg  with  these  two  lines,  which  have 
justly  become  classical, — 

"  Qu'il  Inise  on  qu'il  luiserne 
L'ours  rentre  &  sa  caverne." 

Marius  had  just  left  his  cavern,  for  night  was  falling.  It  was 
the  hour  to  go  and  dine,  for  he  had  been  obliged  to  revert  to 
that  practice,  such  is  the  infirmity  of  ideal  passions. 

He  had  just  crossed  the  threshold  of  his  door,  which  Mame 
Bougon  was  sweeping  at  this  very  moment,  while  uttering  the 
memorable  soliloquy, — 

"What  is  there  cheap  at  present?  everything  is  dear. 
There  is  only  trouble  which  is  cheap,  and  it  may  be  had  for 
nothing." 

Marius  slowly  walked  along  the  boulevard,  in  the  direction 
of  the  Rue  St.  Jacques.  He  walked  thoughtfully  with  hang- 
ing head. 

All  at  once  he  felt  himself  elbowed  in  the  fog.  He  turned 
and  saw  two  girls  in  rags,  one  tall  and  thin,  the  other  not  quite 
so  tall,  who  passed  hurriedly,  panting,  frightened,  and  as  if 
running  away ;  they  were  coming  toward  him,  and  ran  against 
him  as  they  passed.  Marius  noticed  in  the  twilight  their  livid 
faces,  uncovered  heads,  dishevelled  hair,  their  ragged  petti- 
coats, and  bare  feeting.  While  running  they  talked  together, 
and  the  elder  said, — 


MARIUS.  145 

"  The  slops  came,  and  nearly  caught  me." 

And  the  other  answered,  "  I  saw  them,  and  so  I  bolted, 
bolted,  bolted." 

Marius  understood  that  the  police  had  nearly  caught  the  two 
girls,  and  that  they  had  managed  to  escape. 

They  buried  themselves  beneath  the  trees  behind  him,  and 
for  a  few  minutes  produced  a  sort  of  vague  whiteness  in  the 
obscurity. 

Marius  had  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  was  just  going  on, 
when  he  noticed  a  small  gray  packet  lying  at  his  feet.  He 
stooped  down  and  picked  it  up  ;  it  was  a  sort  of  envelope,  ap- 
parently containing  papers. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  "these  poor  girls  must  have  let  it  fall." 

He  turned  back  and  called  to  them,  but  could  not  find  them. 
He  thought  they  must  be  some  distance  off,  so  he  thrust  the 
parcel  into  his  pocket,  and  went  to  dinner. 

On  his  way,  he  saw  in  a  lane  turning  out  of  the  Rue  Mouffe- 
tard,  a  child's  coffin,  covered  with  a  black  pall,  laid  on  three 
chairs,  and  illumined  by  a  candle.  The  two  girls  in  theftwi- 
light  reverted  to  his  thoughts. 

"Poor  mothers!"  he  thought,  " there  is  something  even 
more  sad  than  to  see  one's  children  die, — it  is  to  see  them  live 
badly." 

Then,  these  shadows,  which  varied  his  melancholy,  left 
thoughts,  and  he  fell  back  into  his  usual  reflections.  He  began 
thinking  of  his  six  months  of  love  and  happiness  in  the  open 
air  and  broad  daylight  under  the  glorious  Luxembourg  trees. 

"  How  sad  my  life  has  become  !"  he  said  to  himself;  "  girls 
constantly  appear  to  me,  but  formerly  they  were  angels,  and 
now  they  are  ghouls." 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   QUADRIFONS. 

AT  night,  as  he  undressed  to  go  to  bed,  his  hand  felt  in  his 
coat  pocket  the  parcel  which  he  had  picked  up  in  the  boule- 
vard and  forgotten.  He  thought  that  it  would  be  as  well  to 
open  it,  as  the  packet  might  contain  the  girls'  address,  if  it  be- 
longed to  them,  or  in  any  case  the  necessary  information  to  re- 
store it  to  the  person  to  whom  it  belonged. 
IO 


146  LES   MISERABLES. 

He  opened  the  envelope,  which  was  not  sealed,  and  contained 
four  letters,  also  unsealed. 

The  addresses  were  on  all  four,  and  they  exhaled  a  frightful 
perfume  of  tobacco. 

The  first  letter  was  addressed  to  Madame^  Madame  la  Mar- 
quise de  Grucheray,  on  the  Square  opposite  the  Chamber  oj 
Deputies. 

Marius  said  to  himself  that  he  would  probably  find  the  in- 
formation he  wanted,  and  as  the  letter  was  not  sealed  he  could 
read  it  without  impropriety. 

It  was  drawn  up  as  follows : — 

"  Madame  la  Marquise, 

"The  virtue  of  clemency  and  piety  is  that  which  unites 
sosiety  most  closely.  Move  your  Christian  feelings,  and  dain  a 
glance  of  compassion  at  this  unfortunate  Spaniard,  and  victim 
to  his  loyalty  and  atachment  to  the  sacred  cause  of  legitimacy, 
who  shed  his  blood,  devoted  the  whole  of  his  fortune  to  defend 
this  cause,  and  is  now  in  the  greatest  missery.  He  does  not 
doubt  that  you,  honnored  lady,  will  grant  some  asistance  to  pre- 
serve an  existence  entirely  painful  for  a  soldier  of  honor  and 
edducation,  who  is  covered  with  wounds  and  he  reckons  before 
hand  on  the  humanity  which  annimates  you,  and  the  interest 
which  your  ladyship  takes  in  so  unhappy  a  nacion.  His  prayer 
will  not  be  in  vain,  and  His  gratitude  will  retain  her  charming 
memory. 

"  With  the  most  respectful  feelings,  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 
madame, 

"Don  ALVARES,  Spanish  captain  of  cavvalry,  a  Roy- 
alist refugee  in  France,  who  is  traveling  for  his  country, 
and  who  wants  the  means  to  continue  his  jurney." 

No  address  was  attached  to  the  signature,  but  Marius  hoped 
to  find  it  in  the  second  letter,  of  which  the  superscription  was, 
— "  To  Madame,  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Montvernet,  No.  9,  Hue 
Cassette."  This  is  what  Marius  read, — 

"  My  Lady  Comtess, 

"  It  is  a  unhapy  mother  of  a  family  of  six  children, 
of  which  the  yungest  is  only  eight  months  old  ;  I  ill  since  my 
last  confinement,  deserted  by  my  husband,  and  hawing  no  res- 
sourse  in  the  world,  living  in  the  most  frightful  indijance. 

"  Trusting  in  your  ladyship,  she  has  the  honor  to  be,  ma« 
dame,  with  profound  respect, 

"  ANTOINETTE  BALIZAKD." 


MARIUS.  147 

Marius  passed  to  the  third  letter,  which  was,  like  the  pre- 
ceding, a  petition,  and  he  read  in  it, — 

"  Monsieur  Pabourgeot,  Elector,  ivholesale  dealer  in  caps, 
Rue  St.  .Denis,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Aux-Fers. 

"  I  venture  to  adress  this  letter  to  you,  to  ask  you 
to  grant  me  the  pretious  favor  of  your  sympathies,  and  to  in- 
terest yoa  in  a  literary  man,  who  has  just  sent  a  drama  to  tlie 
Theatre  Fran£ais.  The  subject  is  historical,  and  the  scene 
takes  place  in  Auvergne  in  the  time  of  the  empire  ;  the  style, 
I  believe,  is  natural,  laconic,  and  may  posess  some  merit. 
There  are  couplets  for  singing  at  four  places.  The  comic,  the 
serious,  and  the  unexpected  elements  are  blended  in  it  with  a 
variety  of  characters,  and  a  tinge  of  romance  is  lightly  spread 
through  the  whole  plot,  which  moves  misteriously,  and  the 
finale  takes  place  amid  several  brilliant  tableaux. 

"  My  principal  desire  is  to  sattisfy  the  desire  which  progress- 
ively animates  sosiety,  that  is  to  say,  fashion,  that  capritious 
and  vague  whirligig  which  changes  with  nearly  every  wind. 

"  In  spite  of  these  quallities,  I  have  reason  to  fear  that  jeal- 
ousy and  the  selfishness  of  privileged  authors  may  obtain  my 
exclusion  from  the  stage,  for  I  am  not  unaware  of  the  vexation 
which  is  caused  to  new  comers. 

"  Monsieur  Pabourgeot,  your  just  reputation  as  the  enlight- 
ened protector  of  litterary  men,  emboldens  me  to  send  to  you 
my  daughter,  who  will  explain  to  you  our  indijant  situation, 
wanting  for  bread  and  fire  in  this  winter  season.  To  tell  you 
that  I  wish  you  to  accept  the  homage  which  I  desire  to  make 
to  you  of  my  drama,  and  all  those  that  may  succeed  it,  is 
to  prove  to  you  how  much  I  desire  the  honor  of  sheltering  my- 
self under  your  aegis,  and  adorning  my  writings,  with  your 
name.  If  you  dain  to  honor  me  with  the  most  modest  offer- 
ing, I  will  at  once  set  to  work  writing  a  copy  of  verses,  by 
which  to  pay  you  my  debt  of  grattitude.  These  verses,  which 
I  will  try  to  render  as  perfect  as  possible,  will  be  sent  to  you 
before  they  are  insirted  in  the  beginning  of  the  drama,  and 
produced  on  the  stage. 

"  My  most  respectful  homage  to  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Pabourgeot, 

"  GENFLOT,  man  of  letters. 

"  P.  S — If  it  was  only  forty  sous.  I  appologize  for  send- 
ing my  daughter,  and  not  paying  my  respects  personaly,  but 
sad  reasons  of  dress  do  not  allow  me,  alas !  to  go  out." 


148  LES   MISERABLES. 

Marius  then  opened  the  last  letter,  which  was  addressed  to — 
The  Benevolent  gentleman  of  the  church  of  St.  Jacques  du  Haut- 
pas,  and  it  contained  the  following  few  lines : — 

"  Benevolent  man, — 

"If  you  will  dain  to  accompany  my  daughter  you  will 
witness  a  miserable  calamity,  and  I  will  show  you  my  certifi- 
cates. 

"  At  the  sight  of  these  dokuments  your  generous  soul  will  be 
be  moved  by  a  feeling  of  sensitive  benevolence,  for  true  philos- 
ophers always  experience  lively  emotions. 

"Allow,  compasionate  man,  that  a  man  must  experience 
the  most  cruel  want,  and  that  it  is  very  painful  to  obtain  any 
relief,  by  having  it  attested  by  the  authorities,  as  if  a  man 
were  not  at  liberty  to  suffer  and  die  of  inanicion,  while  waiting 
till  our  missery  is  releaved.  Fate  is  too  cruel  to  some  and  too 
lavish  or  protecting  for  others. 

I  await  your  presence  or  your  offering,  if  you  dain  to  make 
one,  and   I  beg  you  to  believe  in  the  grateful  feelings  with 
which  I  have  the  honor  of  being,  really  magnanimous  sir, 
"Your  very  humble  and  most 

obedient  servant, 
P.  FABANTOU,  dramatic  artist." 

After  reading  these  four  letters  Marius  did  not  find  himself 
much  more  advanced  than  before. 

In  the  first  place  not  one  of  the  writers  gave  his  address  ; 
and  next,  they  appeared  to  come  from  four  different  individ- 
uals, "  Don  Alvarez,  Madame  Balizard,  Genflot  the  poet,  and 
Fabantou  the  dramatic  artist ; "  but  these  letters  offered  this 
peculiarity,  that  they  were  all  in  the  same  handwriting.  What 
could  be  concluded  from  this,  save  that  they  came  from  the 
same  person  ? 

Moreover — and  this  rendered  the  conjecture  even  more  prob- 
able— the  paper,  which  was  coarse  and  yellow,  was  the  same 
for  all  four,  the  tobacco  smell  was  the  same,  and  though  an 
attempt  had  evidently  been  made  to  vary  the  handwriting,  the 
same  orthographical  mistakes  were  reproduced  with  the  most 
profound  tranquillity,  and  Genflot,  the  literary  man,  was  no 
more  exempt  from  them  than  the  Spanish  captain. 

To  strive  and  divine  this  mystery  was  time  thrown  away, 
and  if  he  had  not  picked  it  up  it  would  have  looked  like  a 
mystification  ;  Marius  was  too  sad  to  take  kindly  even  a  jest 
of  accident,  and  lend  himself  to  a  game  which  the  street  pave- 


MARIUS.  149 

ment  appeared  desirous  to  play  with  him.  He  felt  as  if  he 
were  playing  a  blind  man's  buff  among  these  four  letters  and 
they  were  mocking  him. 

Nothing,  besides,  indicated  that  these  letters  belonged  to  the 
girls  whom  Marius  had  met  in  the  boulevard.  After  all  they 
were  papers  evidently  of  no  value. 

Marius  returned  them  to  the  envelope,  threw  the  lot  into  a 
corner,  and  went  to  bed. 

At  about  seven  in  the  morning  he  had  got  up  and  break- 
fasted, and  was  trying  to  set  to  work,  when  there  came  a 
gentle  tap  at  the  door. 

As  he  possessed  nothing  he  never  took  out  his  key,  except 
very  rarely,  when  he  had  a  pressing  job  to  finish.  As  a  rule, 
even  when  out,  he  left  the  key  in  the  lock.  "  You  will  be 
robbed,"  said  Mame  Bougon.  "  Of  what  ?  "  Marius  asked. 
It  is  a  fact,  however,  that  one  day  a  pair  of  old  boots  were 
stolen,  to  the  great  triumph  of  Mame  Bougon. 

There  was  a  second  knock,  quite  as  gentle  as  the  first. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Marius. 

The  door  opened. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mame  Bougon  ?  "  Marius  continued, 
without  taking  his  eyes  off  the  books  and  MSS.  on  his  table. 

A  voice  which  was  not  Mame  Bougon's,  replied, — "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir." 

It  was  a  hollow,  cracked,  choking  voice,  the  voice  of  an  old 
man  rendered  hoarse  by  dram-drinking  and  exposure  to  the 
cold. 

Marius  turned  sharply  and  noticed  a  girl. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   ROSE    IN    MISERY. 

A  VERT  young  girl  was  standing  in  the  half-open  door.  The 
skylight,  through  which  light  entered,  was  exactly  opposite  the 
door,  and  threw  upon  this  face  a  sallow  gleam.  She  was  a 
wretched,  exhausted,  fleshless  creature,  and  had  only  a  chemise 
and  a  petticoat  upon  her  shivering  and  frozen  nudity.  For 
waist-belt  she  had  a  piece  of  string,  for  head-dress  another, — 
pointed  shoulders  emerged  from  her  chemise,  she  was  of  an 
earthy  pallor,  her  hands  were  red,  her  mouth  degraded,  and 
she  had  lost  teeth,  her  eye  was  sunken  and  hollow,  and  she  had 
the  outline  of  an  abortive  girl  and  the  look  of  «  oc/rupted  old 


150  LES   MISERABLES. 

woman,  or  fifty  years  blended  with  fifteen.  She  was  one  of 
those  beings  who  are  at  once  weak  and  horrible,  and  who  make 
those  shudder  whom  they  do  not  cause  to  weep. 

Marius  had  risen,  and  was  gazing  with  a  species  of  stupor  at 
this  being,  who  almost  resembled  the  shadows  that  traverse 
dreams. 

What  was  most  crushing  of  all  was,  that  this  girl  had  not 
come  into  the  world  to  be  ugly,  and  in  her  childhood  she  must 
even  have  been  pretty.  The  grace  of  youth  was  still  strug- 
gling with  the  hideous  and  premature  senility  of  debauchery 
and  poverty.  A  remnant  of  beauty  was  expiring  on  this 
countenance  of  sixteen,  like  the  pallid  sun  which  dies  out 
under  the  frightful  clouds  on  the  dawn  of  a  winter's  day. 

This  face  was  not  absolutely  strange  to  Marius,  and  he 
fancied  that  he  had  already  seen  it  somewhere. 

"  What  do  you  want,  miss  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  girl  replied,  with  her  drunken  galley-slave's  voice, — 

"  It  is  a  letter  for  you,  Monsieur  Marius." 

She  addressed  him  by  name,  and  hence  he  could  not  doubt 
but  that  she  had  to  do  with  him  ;  but  who  was  this  girl,  and 
how  did  she  know  his  name. 

Without  waiting  for  any  authority,  she  walked  in,  walked  in 
boldly,  looking  around  her  with  a  sort  of  assurance  that  con- 
tracted the  heart,  at  the  whole  room  and  the  unmade  bed. 
Her  feet  were  bare,  and  large  holes  in  her  petticoat  displayed 
her  long  legs  and  thin  knees.  She  was  shivering,  and  held  in 
her  hand  a  letter,  which  she  offered  to  Marius. 

On  opening  the  letter,  he  noticed  that  the  large,  clumsy 
wafer  was  still  damp,  which  proved  that  the  missive  had  not 
come  a  long  distance,  and  he  read, — 

"  My  amicable  neighbor  and  young  sir ! 

"  I  have  herd  of  your  kindness  to  me,  and  that  you 
paid  my  half-year's  rent  six  months  ago.  I  bless  you  for  it, 
young  sir.  My  eldest  daughter  will  tell  you  that  we  have  been 
without  a  morsel  of  bread  for  two  days, — four  persons,  and 
my  wife  ill.  If  I  am  not  deceived  in  my  opinion,  I  dare  to 
hope  that  your  generous  heart  will  be  affected  by  this  statement, 
and  will  arouse  in  you  a  desire  to  be  propicious  to  me,  by  dain- 
ing  to  lavish  on  me  a  trifling  charity. 

"  I  am,  with  the  distinguished  consideration  which  is  due  to 
the  benefactors  of  humanity,  "  JONDRETTE. 

"  P.S.  My  daughter  will  wait  for  your  orders,  my  dear 
Monsieur  Marius," 


MARIUS.  151 

This  letter,  in  the  midst  of  the  obscure  adventure  which  had 
been  troubling  Marius  since  the  previous  evening,  was  like  a 
candle  in  a  cellar  ;  all  was  suddenly  lit  up. 

This  letter  came  from  where  the  other  letters  came.  It 
was  the  same  handwriting,  the  same  style,  the  same  orthog- 
raphy, the  same  paper,  and  the  same  tobacco  smell. 

They  were  five  letters,  five  stories,  five  names,  five  signatures, 
and  only  one  writer.  The  Spanish  captain  Don  Alvarez,  the 
unhappy  mother  Balizard,  the  dramatic  author  Genflot,  and 
the  old  comedian  Fabantou,  were  all  four  Jondrette,  if,  indeed, 
Jondrette's  name  were  really  Jondrette. 

During  the  lengthened  period  that  Marius  had  inhabited  this 
No.  50-52,  he  had,  as  we  stated,  but  rare  occasions  to  see,  or 
even  catch  a  glance  of,  his  very  low  neighbors.  His  mind  was 
elsewhere,  and  where  the  mind  is  there  is  the  eye.  He  must 
have  passed  the  Jondrettes  more  than  once  in  the  passage  and 
on  the  stairs,  but  they  were  to  him  merely  shadows%  He  had 
paid  so  little  attention  to  them,  that  on  the  previous  evening  he 
had  run  against  Jondrette  girls  on  the  boulevard  without 
recognizing  them,  for  it  was  evidently  they,  and  it  was  with 
great  difficulty  that  the  girl,  who  had  just  entered  the  room, 
aroused  in  him,  through  disgust  and  pity,  a  vague  fancy  that  he 
had  met  her  somewhere  before. 

Now  he  saw  every  thing  clearly.  He  comprehended  that 
his  neighbor  Jondrette  had  hit  upon  the  trade,  in  his  distress, 
of  working  upon  the  charity  of  benevolent  persons,  that  he 
procured  addresses  and  wrote  under  supposititious  names,  to 
people  whom  he  supposed  to  be  rich  and  charitable,  letters 
which  his  children  delivered  at  their  risk  and  peril,  for  this 
father  had  attained  such  a  stage  that  he  hazarded  his  daugh- 
ters ;  he  was  gambling  with  destiny  and  staked  them.  Marius 
comprehended  that  in  all  probability,  judging  from  their  flight 
of  the  previous  evening,  their  panting,  their  terror,  and  the 
slang  words  he  overheard,  these  unfortunates  carried  on  some 
other  dark  trades,  and  the  result  of  all  this  was,  in  the  heart  of 
human  society  such  as  it  is  constituted,  two  wretched  beings, 
who  were  neither  children,  nor  girls,  nor  women,  but  a  species 
of  impure  and  innocent  monsters,  which  were  the  produce  of 
wretchedness  ;  melancholy  beings  without  age,  name,  or  sex,  to 
whom  neither  good  nor  evil  is  any  longer  possible,  and  who,  on 
emerging  from  childhood  have  nothing  left  in  the  world,  not 
liberty,  nor  virture  nor  responsibility  ;  souls  that  expanded 
yesterday  and  are  faded  to-day,  like  the  flowers  that  have 


152  LES   MISERABLES, 

fallen  in  the  street  and  are  plashed  by  the  mud,  while  waiting 
till  a  wheel  crushes  them. 

While  Marius  was  bending  on  the  young  girl  an  astonished 
and  painful  glance,  she  was  walking  about  the  garret  with  the 
boldness  of  a  spectre,  and  without  troubling  herself  in  the 
slightest  about  her  state  of  nudity.  At  some  moments  her  un- 
fastened and  torn  chemise  fell  almost  to  her  waist.  She 
moved  the  chairs  about,  disturbed  the  toilet  articles  on  the 
chest  of  drawers,  felt  Marius'  clothes,  and  rummaged  in  every 
corner. 

"  Why,"  she  said,  "  you  have  a  looking-glass  !  " 

And  she  hummed  as  if  she  had  been  alone,  bits  of  vaude- 
ville songs  and  wild  choruses,  which  her  guttural  and  hoarse 
voice  rendered  mournful.  But  beneath  this  boldness  there  was 
something  constrained,  alarmed,  and  humiliated,  for  effrontery 
is  a  disgrace. 

Nothing  could  well  be  more  sad  than  to  see  her  fluttering 
about  the  room  with  the  movement  of  a  broken-winged  bird 
startled  by  a  dog.  It  was  palpable  that  with  other  conditions 
of  education  and  destiny,  the  gay  and  free  demeanor  of  this 
girl  might  have  been  something  gentle  and  charming.  Among 
animals,  the  creature  born  to  be  a  dove  is  never  changed  into 
an  osprey,  that  is  only  possible  with  men. 

Marius  was  thinking,  and  left  her  alone,  and  she  walked  up 
to  the  table. 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "books." 

A  gleam  darted  from  her  glassy  eye  :  she  continued,  and  her 
accent  expressed  the  attitude  of  being  able  to  boast  of  some- 
thing to  which  no  human  creature  is  insensible, — 

"  I  know  how  to  read." 

She  quickly  seized  the  book  lying  on  the  table,  and  read 
rather  fluently, — 

"  General  Bauduin  received  orders  to  carry  with  the  five 
battalions  of  his  brigade  the  Chateau  of  Hougomont,  which  is 
the  centre  of  the  plain  of  Waterloo — " 

She  broke  off. 

"  Ah,  Waterloo,  I  know  all  about  that.  It  was  a  battle  in 
which  my  father  was  engaged,  for  he  served  in  the  army.  We 
are  thorough  Bonarpartists,  we  are.  Waterloo  was  fought  against 
the  English." 

She  laid  down  the  book,  took  up  a  pen,  and  exclaimed.  "  And 
I  can  write,  too." 

She  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink,  and  turned  to  Marius,  say- 


MARIUS.  153 

"  Would  you  like  a  proof?  stay,  I  will  write  a  line  to  show 
you." 

And  ere  he  had  time  to  answer  she  wrote  on  a  sheet  of  white 
paper  in  the  middle  of  the  table  '  Here  are  the  slops.' 

Then,  throwing  down  the  pen,  she  added, — 

"  There  are  no  errors  in  spelling,  as  you  can  see,  for  my  sis- 
ter and  I  were  well  educated.  We  have  not  always  been  what 
we  are  now,  we  were  not  made — " 

Here  she  stopped,  fixed  her  glassy  eye  on  Marius,  and  burst 
into  a  laugh,  as  she  said,  with  an  intonation  which  contained 
evejy  possible  agony,  blended  with  every  possible  cynicism, — 

«  Bosh  !  " 

And  then  she  began  humming  these  words  to  a  lively  air. 

"J'ai  faim,  mon  pere, 

Pas  de  fricot. 

J'ai  froid,  ma  mdre, 

Pas  de  tricot. 

Grelotte, 

Lolotte ! 

Sanglote, 

Jacquot ! " 

She  had  scarcely  completed  this  couplet,  ere  she  ex- 
claimed,— 

"  Do  you  ever  go  to  the  play,  Monsieur  Marius  ?  I  do  so.  I 
have  a  brother  who  is  a  friend  of  the  actors,  and  gives  me 
tickets  every  now  and  then.  I  don't  care  for  the  gallery  much, 
though,  for  you  are  so  squeezed  up  ;  at  times,  too,  there  are 
noisy  people  there,  and  others  who  smell  bad." 

Then  she  stared  at  Marius,  gave  him  a  strange  look,  and 
said  to  him, — 

"  Do  you  know,  M.  Marius,  that  you  are  a  very  good-look- 
ing fellow  ?  " 

And  at  the  same  moment  the  same  thought  occurred  to  both, 
which  made  her  smile  and  him  blush. 

She  walked  up  to  him  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder, — 
';:You  don't  pay  any  attention  to  me,  but  I  know  you,  M. 
Marius.  I  meet  you  here  on  the  stair-case,  and  then  I  see  you 
go  in  to  a  swell  of  the  name  of  M.  Maboeuf,  who  lives  over  at 
Austerlitz,  when  I  am  out  that  way.  Your  curly  hair  becomes 
you  very  well." 

Her  voice  tried  to  be  very  soft,  and  only  succeeded  in  being 
very  low  ;  a  part  of  her  words  was  lost  in  the  passage  from  the 
larynx  to  the  lips,  as  on  a  pianoforte  some  keys  of  which  are 
broken, 


154  LES  MISERABLES. 

Marius  had  gently  recoiled. 

"  I  have  a  packet,"  he  said,  with  his  cold  gravity,  "  which, 
I  believe,  belongs  to  you.  Allow  me  to  deliver  it  to  you." 

And  he  handed  her  the  envelope  which  contained  the  four, 
letters  ;  she  clapped  her  hands  and  said, — 

"  We  looked  for  it  everywhere." 

Then  she  quickly  seized  the  parcel  and  undid  the  envelope, 
while  saying, — 

"  Lord  of  Lords  !  how  my  sister  and  I  did  look  for  it !  And 
so  you  found  it  ?  on  the  boulevard,  did  you  not  ?  it  must  have 
been  there.  You  see,  it  was  dropped,  while  we  were  running, 
and  it  was  my  brat  of  a  sister  who  was  such  an  ass.  When  \ve 
got  home  we  could  not  find  it,  and,  as  we  did  not  wish  to  be 
beaten,  which  is  unnecessary,  which  is  entirely  unnecessary, 
which  is  absolutely  unnecessary,  we  said  at  home  that  we  had 
delivered  the  letters,  and  that  the  answer  was  Nix  !  arid  here 
are  the  poor  letters  !  Well,  and  how  did  you  know  that  they 
were  mine  ?  oh  yes,  by  the  writing.  So,  then,  it  was  you  that 
we  ran  against  last  night  ?  We  could  not  see  any  thing,  and  I 
said  to  my  sister,  '  Is  it  a  gentleman?'  and  she  answered, 
'  Yes,  I  think  it  is  a  gentleman.'  " 

While  saying  this  she  had  unfolded  the  petition  addressed  to 
the  "  benevolent  gentleman  of  the  church  of  St.  Jacques,  du 
Haut-pas." 

"  Hilloh!  "  she  said,  "  this  is  the  one  for  the  old  swell  who 
goes  to  mass.  Why,  'tis  just  the  hour,  and  I  will  carry  it  to 
him.  He  will  perhaps  give  us  something  for  breakfast." 

Then  she  burst  into  a  laugh,  and  added, — 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  will  be  if  we  breakfast  to-day?  we 
shall  have  our  breakfast  of  the  day  before  yesterday,  our  dinner 
of  the  day  before  yesterday,  our  breakfast  of  yesterday,  our 
dinner  of  yesterday,  all  at  once  this  morning.  Well,  hang  it 
all !  if  you  are  not  satisfied,  rot  dogs  !  " 

This  reminded  Marius  of  what  the  hapless  girl  had  come  to 
get  from  him ;  he  fumbled  in  his  waistcoat,  but  found  nothing. 
The  girl  went  on  and  seemed  speaking  as  if  no  longer  conscious 
of  the  presence  of  Marius. 

"  Sometimes  I  go  out  at  night.  Sometimes  I  do  not  come 
home.  Before  we  came  here  last  winter  we  lived  under  the 
arches  of  the  bridges,  and  kept  close  together  not  to  be  frozen. 
My  little  sister  cried.  How  sad  the  water  is.  When  I  thought 
of  drowning  myself,  I  said,  '  No,  it  is  too  cold.'  I  go  about  all 
alone  when  I  like,  and  sleep  at  times  in  ditches.  Do  you 
know,  at  night,  when  J  walk  along  the  boulevard,  I  see  trees, 


MARIUS.  155 

like  forks,  I  see  black  houses  as  tall  as  the  towers  of  Notre 
Dame,  I  fancy  that  the  white  walls  are  the  river,  and  I  say  to 
myself,  4  Why,  there  is  water ! '  The  stars  are  like  illumina- 
tion lamps,  and  you  might  say  that  they  smoke  and  the  wind 
puts  them  out.  I  feel  stunned,  as  if  my  hair  was  lashing  my 
ears  ;  however,  the  night  may  be,  I  hear  barrel-organs  and 
spinning  machinery,  but  what  do  I  know  ?  I  fancy  that  stones 
are  being  thrown  at  me,  and  I  run  away  unconsciously,  for  all 
turns  round  me.  When  you  have  not  eaten  it  is  funny." 

And  she  gazed  at  him  with  haggard  eyes. 

After  feeling  in  the  depths  of  all  his  pockets,  Marius  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  together  five  francs  sixteen  sous  ;  it  was  at 
this  moment  all  that  he  possessed  in  the  world.  "  Here  is  my 
to-day's  dinner,"  he  thought,  "  and  to-morrow  will  take  care 
of  itself."  He  kept  the  sixteen  sous,  and  gave  the  girl  the 
five-franc  piece,  which  she  eagerly  clutched. 

'•  Good!  "  she  said,  "  there  is  sunshine." 

And,  as  if  the  sunshine  had  the  property  of  melting  in  her 
brain  avalanches  of  slang,  she  went  on, — 

"  Five  francs !  a  shiner !  a  monarch  !  ain't  that  stunning? 
well,  you  are  a  jolly  cock,  and  I  do  the  humble  to  you.  Hur- 
rah for  the  orick  !  two  days'  grub  ;  here's  a  feed  ;  beans  and 
bacon  and  belly-ful ;  you're  a  oner !  " 

She  pulled  her  chemise  up  over  her  shoulders,  gave  Marius  a 
deep  courtesy,  and  a  familiar  wave  of  the  hand,  and  walked  to- 
ward the  door,  saying, — 

"  Good  day,  sir,  but  no  matter,  I'll  go  and  find  my  old 
swell." 

As  she  passed  she  noticed  on  the  drawers  an  old  crust  of 
dry  bread,  mouldering  in  the  dust ;  she  caught  it  up,  and  bit 
into  it  savagely,  grumbling, — 

"  It  is  good,  it  is  hard ;  it  breaks  my  teeth  1 " 

The  she  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   PROVIDENTIAL    SPY-HOLE. 

MARIUS  had  lived  for  the  past  five  years  in  poverty,  want, 
and  even  distress,  but  he  now  saw  that  he  had  never  known 
what  real  misery  was,  and  he  had  just  witnessed  it — it  was  the 
phantom  which  had  just  passed  before  him.  For,  in  truth,  he 


156  LES   MISERABLES. 

who  has  only  seen  man's  misery  has  seen  nothing,  he  must 
see  woman's  misery  ;  while  he  who  has  seen  woman's  misery 
has  seen  nothing,  for  he  must  see  the  misery  of  the  child. 

When  man  has  reached  the  last  extremity  he  has  also  reached 
the  limit  of  his  resources  ;  and,  then,  woe  to  the  defenceless 
beings  that  surround  him  !  Work,  wages,  bread,  fire,  courage, 
and  food,  will  all  fail  him  at  once  ;  the  light  of  day  seems  ex- 
tinguished outside,  the  moral  light  is  extinguished  within  him. 
In  these  shadows  man  comes  across  the  weakness  of  the  wife 
and  the  child,  and  violently  bends  them  to  ignominy. 

In  such  a  case,  every  horror  is  possible,  and  despair  is  sur- 
rounded by  thin  partitions,  which  all  open  upon  vice  and 
crime. 

Health,  youth,  honor,  the  sacred  and  retiring  delicacy  of  the 
still  innocent  flesh,  the  heart-virginity  and  modesty,  that 
epidermis  of  the  soul,  are  foully  clutched  by  this  groping 
hand,  which  seeks  resources,  finds  opprobrium,  and  puts  up 
with  it. 

Fathers,  mothers,  brothers,  sisters,  men,  women,  and  girls, 
adhere  and  are  aggregated  almost  like  a  mineral  formation,  in 
this  misty  promiscuity  of  sexes,  relations,  ages,  infamies,  and  in- 
nocencies.  Leaning  against  each  other,  they  crouch  in  a 
species  of  den  of  destiny,  and  look  at  each  other  lamentably. 
Oh  !  the  unfortunates !  how  pale  they  are  I  how  cold  they  are  ! 
it  seems  as  if  they  belong  to  a  planet  much  farther  from  the 
sun  than  our  own. 

This  girl  was  to  Marius  a  sort  of  emissary  from  the  dark- 
ness, and  she  revealed  to  him  a  hideous  side  of  night. 

Marius  almost  reproached  himself  for  the  preoccupations  of 
reverie  and  passion  which,  up  to  this  day,  had  prevented  him 
from  taking  a  glance  at  his  neighbors.  To  have  paid  their 
rent  was  a  mechanical  impulse,  which  any  one  might  have 
had ;  but  he,  Marius,  ought  to  have  done  better.  What ! 
only  a  wall  separated  himself  from  these  abandoned  creatures, 
who  lived  groping  in  night,  beyond  the  pale  of  other  living  be- 
ings. He  elbowed  them,  he  was  to  some  extent  the  last  link  of 
the  human  race  which  they  could  touch ;  he  heard  them  liv- 
ing, or  rather  dying,  by  his  side,  and  he  paid  no  attention  to 
them  !  Every  moment  of  the  day  he  heard  them,  through  the 
wall,  coming,  going,  and  talking — and  he  did  not  listen  !  and  in 
their  words  were  groans,  and  he  did  not  hear  them  ! — his 
thoughts  were  elsewhere, — engaged  with  dreams,  impossible 
sunbeams,  loves  in  the  air,  and  follies;  and  yet,  human  creat- 
ures, his  brethren  in  Christ,  his  brethren  in  the  people,  were 


MARIUS.  157 

slowly  dying  by  his  side,  dying  unnecessarily !  He  even 
formed  part  of  their  misfortune,  and  he  aggravated  it.  For, 
if  they  had  had  another  neighbor,  a  neighbor  more  attentive, 
less  chimerical,  an  ordinary  and  charitable  man,  their  indigence 
would  evidently  have  been  noticed,  their  signals  of  distress 
perceived,  and  they  might,  perhaps,  have  been  picked  up  and 
saved  long  before.  They  doubtless  seemed  very  depraved, 
very  corrupt,  very  vile,  and  indeed  very  odious ;  but  persons 
who  fall  without  being  degraded  are  rare  ;  besides,  there  is  a 
stage  where  the  unfortunate  and  the  infamous  are  mingled  and 
confounded  in  one  word,  a  fatal  word,  LES  MISERABLES,  and 
with  whom  lies  the  fault?  And  then  again,  should  not  the 
charity  be  the  greater  the  deeper  the  fall  is  ? 

While  reading  himself  this  lecture,  for  there  were  occasions 
on  which  Marius  was  his  own  pedagogue,  and  reproached 
himself  more  than  he  deserved,  he  looked  at  the  wall  which 
separated  him  from  the  Jondrettes,  as  if  his  pitying  glance 
could  pass  through  the  partition,  and  warm  the  unhappy  be- 
ings. The  wall  was  a  thin  coating  of  plaster,  supported  by 
laths  and  beams,  and  which,  as  we  have  stated,  allowed  the 
murmurs  of  words  and  voices  to  be  distinctly  heard.  A  man 
must  be  a  dreamer  like  Marius  not  to  have  noticed  the  fact 
before.  No  paper  was  hung  on  either  side  of  the  wall,  and  its 
clumsy  construction  was  plainly  visible.  Almost  uncon- 
sciously Marius  examined  this  partition  ;  for  at  times  reverie 
examines,  scrutinizes,  and  observes  much  like  thought  does. 
All  at  once  he  rose,  for  he  had  just  noticed  near  the  ceiling  a 
triangular  hole  produced  by  the  gap  between  three  laths.  The 
plaster  which  once  covered  this  hole  had  fallen  off,  and  by  get- 
ting on  his  chest  of  drawers  he  could  see  through  this  aperture 
into  the  room  of  the  Jondrettes.  Commiseration  has,  and 
should  have,  its  curiosity,  and  it  is  permissible  to  regard  mis- 
fortune traitorously  when  we  wish  to  relieve  it.  "  Let  me  sec," 
thought  Marius,  "  what  these  people  are  like,  and  what  state 
they  are  in." 

He  clambered  on  the  drawers,  put  his  eye  to  the  hole,  and 
looked. 


Ij8  LES  MISERABLES. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   WILD   MAN   IN   HIS   LAIR. 

CITIES,  like  forests,  have  their  dens,  in  which  every  thing 
that  is  most  wicked  and  formidable  conceals  itself.  The  only 
difference  is,  that  what  hides  itself  thus  in  cities  is  ferocious, 
unclean,  and  little,  that  is  to  say,  ugly  ;  what  conceals  itself  in 
the  forests  is  ferocious,  savage  and  grand,  that  is  to  say,  beau- 
tiful. Den  for  den,  those  of  the  beasts  are  preferable  to  those 
of  men  ;  and  caverns  are  better  than  hiding-places. 

Marius  was  poor,  and  his  room  was  indigent ;  but,  in  the 
same  way  as  his  poverty  was  noble,  his  room  was  clean.  The 
garret  into  which  he  was  now  looking  was  abject,  dirty,  fetid, 
infectious,  dark,  and  sordid.  The  furniture  only  consisted  of  a 
straw-bottomed  chair,  a  rickety  table,  a  few  old  earthenware 
articles,  and  in  the  corners  two  indescribable  beds.  The  only 
light  came  through  a  sky-light  with  four  panes  of  glass  and 
festooned  with  spider-webs.  Through  this  came  just  sufficient 
light  for  the  face  of  a  man  to  seem  the  face  of  a  spectre.  The 
walls  had  a  leprous  look,  and  were  covered  with  gashes  and 
scars,  like  a  face  disfigured  by  some  horrible  disease,  and  a 
blear-eyed  damp  oozed  from  them.  Obscene  designs,  clumsily 
drawn  in  charcoal,  could  be  distinguished  on  them. 

The  room  which  Marius  occupied  had  a  broken-brick  floor- 
ing, but  in  this  one  people  walked  on  the  old  plaster,  which 
had  grown  black  under  the  feet.  Upon  this  uneven  flooring,  in 
which  the  dust  was,  so  to  speak,  incrusted,  and  which  had  but 
one  virginity,  that  of  the  broom,  were  capriciously  grouped 
constellations  of  old  shoes,  boots,  and  frightful  rags ;  this  room, 
however,  had  a  chimney,  and  for  this  reason  was  let  at  forty 
francs  a  year.  There  was  something  of  every  thing  in  this 
fire-place, — a  chafing-dish,  a  pot,  some  broken  planks,  rags 
hanging  from  nails,  a  bird-cage,  ashes,  and  even  a  little  fire,  for 
two  logs  were  smoking  there  sadly. 

A  thing  which  augmented  the  horror  of  this  garret  was  the 
fact  of  its  being  large  ;  it  had  angles,  nooks,  black  holes  under 
the  roof,  bays,  and  promontories.  Hence  came  frightful  in- 
scrutable corners,  in  which  it  seemed  as  if  spiders  large  as  a 


MARIUS.  159 

fist,  wood-lice  as  large  as  a  foot,  and  possibly  some  human 
monsters,  must  lurk. 

One  of  the  beds  was  near  the  door,  the  other  near  the  win- 
dow, but  the  ends  of  both  ran  down  to  the  mantel-piece,  and 
faced  Marius.  In  a  corner  near  the  hole  through  which  Marius 
was  peeping  a  colored  engraving  in  a  black  frame,  under  which 
was  written  in  large  letters,  THE  DREAM,  leant  against  the 
walk.  It  represented  a  sleeping  woman  and  a  sleeping  child, 
the  child  lying  on  the  woman's  knees,  an  eagle  in  the  clouds 
with  a  crown  in  its  beak,  and  the  woman  removing  the  crown 
from  the  child's  head,  without  awaking  it,  however ;  in  the 
background  Napoleon,  surrounded  by  a  glory,  was  leaning 
against  a  dark  blue  column,  with  a  yellow  capital,  that  bore  the 
following  inscription : 

MARINGO. 
AUSTERITS. 

JENA. 
WAGRAMME. 

ELOT. 

Below  this  frame  a  sort  of  wooden  panel,  longer  than  it  was 
wide,  was  placed  on  the  ground  and  leaning  against  the  wall. 
It  looked  like  a  picture  turned  from  the  spectator,  or  some 
sign -board  detached  from  a  wall  and  forgotten  there  while 
waiting  to  be  hung  again. 

At  the  table,  on  which  Marius  noticed  pen,  ink,  and  paper, 
a  man  was  seated  of  about  sixty  years  of  age,  short,  thin,  livid, 
haggard,  with  a  sharp,  cruel,  and  listless  look,  a  hideous 
scamp. 

If  Lavater  had  examined  this  face  he  would  have  found  in  it 
the  vulture  blended  with  the  attorney's  clerk ;  the  bird  of  prey 
and  the  man  of  trickery  rendering  each  other  more  ugly  and 
more  perfect — the  man  of  trickery  rendering  the  bird  of  prey 
ignoble,  and  the  bird  of  prey  rendering  the  man  of  trickery 
horrible. 

This  man  had  a  long  gray  beard,  and  wore  a  woman's  che- 
mise, which  allowed  his  hairy  chest,  and  naked  arms,  bristling 
with  gray  hairs,  to  be  seen.  Under  this  chemise  might  be  no- 
ticed muddy  trousers,  and  boots  out  of  which  his  toes  stuck. 

He  had  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  was  smoking  ;  there  was  no 
bread  in  the  garret,  but  there  was  still  tobacco. 

He  was  writing,  probably  some  letter  like  those  which  Marius 
had  read. 


160  LES   MISERABLES. 

On  one  corner  of  (he  table  could  be  seen  an  old  broken- 
backed  volume,  the  form  of  which,  the  old  12mo  of  circulating 
libraries,  indicated  a  romance  ;  on  the  cover  figured  the  follow- 
ing title,  printed  in  large  capitals, — GOD,  THE  KING,  HONOR, 
AND  THE  LADIES.  BY  DUCRAY  DDMINIL,  1814. 

While  writing,  the  man  was  talking  aloud,  and  Marius  heard 
his  words : 

"  Only  to  think  that  there  is  no  equality,  even  when  a  man 
is  dead  !  Just  look  at  Pere  La  Chaise  !  The  great  ones,  those 
who  are  rich,  are  up  above,  in  the  Acacia  avenue  which  is 
paved,  and  reach  it  in  a  coach.  The  little  fold,  the  poor  peo- 
ple, the  wretched — they  are  put  down  at  the  bottom  where 
there  is  mud  up  to  your  knees,  in  holes  and  damp,  and  they  sire 
placed  there  that  they  may  rot  all  the  sooner.  You  can't  go  to 
see  them  without  sinking  into  the  ground." 

Here  he  stopped — smote  the  table  with  his  fist — and  added, 
while  he  gnashed  his  teeth, — 

"  Oh  !  I  could  eat  the  world !  " 

A  stout  woman,  who  might  be  forty  or  one  hundred,  was 
crouched  up  near  the  chimney-piece  on  her  naked  feet. 

She  too  was  only  dressed  in  a  chemise,  and  a  cotton  petti- 
coat, pieced  with  patches  of  old  cloth,  and  an  apron  of  coarse 
canvas  concealed  one  half  of  the  petticoat.  Though  this 
woman  was  sitting  all  of  a  heap  you  could  see  that  she  was 
very  tall,  and  a  species  of  giantess  by  her  husband's  side.  She 
had  frightful  hair,  of  a  reddish  auburn,  beginning  to  turn  gray, 
which  she  thrust  back  every  now  and  then  with  the  enormous 
strong  hands,  with  flat  nails. 

By  her  side,  on  the  ground,  was  lying  an  open  volume,  of 
the  same  form  as  the  other,  probably  part  of  the  same  ro- 
mance. 

On  one  of  the  beds  Marius  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  tall,  little, 
sickly  girl,  sitting  up  almost  naked,  and  with  hanging  feet,  who 
did  not  seem  to  hear,  see,  or  live ;  she  was,  doubtless,  the 
younger  sister  of  the  one  who  had  come  to  him. 

She  appeared  to  be  eleven  or  twelve  years  of  age,  but  on 
examining  her  attentively  it  could  be  seen  that  she  was  at 
least  fourteen ;  it  was  the  girl  who  said  on  the  boulevard  the 
previous  night,  "  I  bolted,  bolted,  bolted." 

She  was  of  that  backward  class  who  keep  down  for  a  long 
time  and  then  shoot  up  quickly  and  suddenly.  It  is  indigence 
which  produces  these  human  plants,  and  these  creatures  have 
neither  infancy  nor  adolescence.  At  fifteen  they  seem  twelve, 
and  at  sixteen  they  appear  twenty ;  to-day  it  is  a  little  girl,  to- 


MARIUS.  161 

morrow  a  woman ;  we  might  almost  say  that  they  stride 
through  life  in  order  to  reach  the  end  more  rapidly  ;  at  this 
moment,  however,  she  had  the  look  of  a  child. 

In  this  lodging  there  was  not  the  slightest  sign  of  work  ;  not 
a  loom,  a  spinning-wheel,  or  a  single  tool,  but  in  one  corner 
were  some  iron  implements  of  dubious  appearance.  It  was 
that  dull  indolence  which  follows  despair  and  precedes  death. 

Marius  gazed  for  some  time  at  this  mournful  interior,  which 
was  more  terrifying  than  the  interior  of  a  tomb,  for  the  human 
soul  could  be  seen  stirring  in  it  and  life  palpitating. 

The  garret,  the  cellar,  the  hole,  in  which  some  indigent 
people  crawl  in  the  lowest  part  of  the  social  edifice,  is  not 
exactly  the  sepulchre,  but  it  is  the  ante-chamber  to  it ;  but  like 
those  rich  men  who  display  their  greatest  magnificence  at  the 
entrance  to  their  palace,  it  seems  that  death,  which  is  close  at 
hand,  places  all  its  greatest  wretchedness  in  this  vestibule. 

The  man  was  silent,  the  woman  did  not  speak,  and  the  girl 
did  not  seem  to  breathe  ;  the  pen  could  be  heard  moving  across 
the  paper. 

The  man  growled,  without  ceasing  to  write.  "  Scoundrels, 
scoundrels,  all  are  scoundrels." 

The  variation  upon  Solomon's  exclamation  drew  a  sigh  from 
the  wife. 

"  Calm  yourself,  my  love,"  she  said,  "  do  not  hurt  yourself, 
darling.  You  are  too  good  to  write  to  all  those  people,  dear 
husband." 

In  misery  bodies  draw  more  closely  together,  as  in  cold 
weather,  but  hearts  are  estranged.  This  woman,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, must  have  loved  this  man  with  the  amount  of  love 
'within  her,  but  probably  this  had  been  extinguished  in  the 
daily  and  mutual  reproaches  of  the  frightful  distress  that 
pressed  upon  the  whole  family,  and  she  now  only  had  the  ashes 
of  affection  for  her  husband  within  her.  Still,  caressing 
appellations,  as  frequently  happens,  had  survived :  she  called 
him  darling,  pet,  husband,  with  her  lips,  but  her  heart  was 
silent. 

The  man  continued  to  write. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

STRATEGY  AND    TACTICS. 

MARIUS,  with   an  aching  heart,  was  just  going  to  descend 
from  the  species  of  observatory  which  he  had  improvised,  when 
II 


162  LES   MISERABLE^. 

a  noise  attracted  his  attention,  and  made  him  remain  at  his 
post. 

The  door  of  the  garret  was  suddenly  opened,  and  the  elder 
daughter  appeared  on  the  threshold.  She  had  on  her  feet 
clumsy  men's  shoes  covered  with  mud,  which  had  even  plashed 
her  red  ankles,  and  she  was  covered  with  an  old  ragged  cloak, 
which  Marius  had  not  noticed  au  hour  previously,  and  which 
she  had  probably  left  at  his  door,  in  order  to  inspire  greater 
sympathy,  and  put  on  again  when  she  went  out.  She  came  in, 
shut  the  door  after  her,  stopped  to  fetch  breath,  for  she  was 
panting,  and  then  cried,  with  an  expression  of  triumph  and 

joy.—  m 

"  He  is  coming !  " 

The  father  turned  his  eyes  to  her,  the  mother  turned  her 
head,  and  the  little  girl  did  not  move. 

"  Who  ?"  the  father  asked. 

"  The  gentleman." 

"  The  philanthropist  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  From  the  church  of  St  Jacques?" 

•'  Yes.     He  is  following  me." 

"  Are  you  sure?  " 

"  He  is  coming  in  a  hackney  coach,  I  tell  you.** 

"  A  hackney  coach  !  why,  it  is  Rothschild  !  " 

The  father  rose. 

"  Why  are  you  sure  ?  if  he  is  coming  in  a  coach,  how  is  it 
that  you  got  here  before  him  ?  did  you  give  him  the  address, 
and  are  you  certain  you  told  him  the  last  door  on  the  right  in 
the  passage  ?  I  only  hope  he  will  not  make  a  mistake.  Did 
you  find  him  at  church  ?  did  he  read  my  letter,  and  what  did 
he  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta,"  said  the  girl,  "  how  you  gallop,  my  good  man. 
I  went  into  the  church,  he  was  at  his  usual  place,  I  made  a 
courtsey  and  handed  him  the  letter,  he  read  it,  and  said  to  me, 
'  Where  do  you  live,  my  child  ? '  I  said,  '  I  will  show  you  the 
way  sir  ; '  he  said,  '  No,  give  me  your  address,  for  my  daughter 
has  some  purchases  to  make.  I  will  take  a  hackney  coach,  and 
be  at  your  abode  as  soon  as  you.'  I  gave  him  the  address,  and 
when  1  mentioned  the  house  he  seemed  surprised,  and  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  but  then  said,  '  No  matter,  I  will  go.'  When 
mass  was  over  I  saw  him  leave  the  church  and  get  into  a  coach 
with  his  daughter.  And  I  carefully  told  him  the  last  door  on 
the  right  at  the  end  of  the  passage." 

"  And  what  tells  you  that  he  will  come?" 


MARIUS.  163 

"  I  have  just  seen  the  coach  turn  into  the  Rue  de  Petit 
Banquier,  and  that  is  why  I  ran." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  the  same  coach  ?  " 

"  Because  I  noticed  the  number,  of  course.** 

"  What  was  it  ?  '* 

"  Four  hundred  and  forty." 

"  Good,  you  are  a  clever  girl." 

The  girl  looked  boldly  at  her  father,  and  said,  as  she  pointed 
to  the  shoes  on  her  feet, — 

"  It  is  possible  that  I  am  a  clever  girl ;  but  I  say  that  I  will 
not  put  on  those  shoes  again  ;  in  the  first  place,  on  account  of 
my  health,  and,  secondly,  for  the  sake  of  decency.  I  know 
nothing  more  annoying  than  shoes  which  are  too  big  for  you, 
and  go,  gji,  gji,  gji,  along  the  road.  I  would  sooner  be  bare- 
footed." 

"  You  are  right,"  the  father  replied,  in  a  gentle  voice,  which 
constrained  with  the  girl's  rudeness  :  "  but  the  poor  are  not 
admitted  into  churches  unless  they  wear  shoes  ;  God's  presence 
must  not  be  entered  barefoot,"  he  added  bitterly.  Then  he  re- 
turned to  the  object  that  occupied  him. 

"  And  so  you  are  sure  that  he  will  come  ?  " 

"He  is  at  my  heels,"  she  replied. 

The  man  drew  himself  up,  and  there  was  a  species  of  illumi- 
nation on  his  face. 

"Wife,"  he  cried,  "you  hear!  Here  is  the  philanthropist, 
put  out  the  fire." 

The  stupefied  mother  did  not  stir,  but  the  father,  with  the 
agility  of  a  mountebank,  seized  the  cracked  pot,  which  stood 
on  the  chimney-piece,  and  threw  water  on  the  logs.  Then  he 
said  to  his  elder  daughter, — 

"Pull  the  straw  out  of  the  chair." 

As  his  daughter  did  not  understand  him,  he  seized  the  chair 
and  kicked  the  seat  out ;  his  leg  passed  through  it,  and  while 
drawing  it  out,  he  asked  the  girl, — 

"Is it  cold?" 

"  Very  cold,  it  is  snowing." 

The  father  turned  to  the  younger  girl,  who  was  on  the  bed, 
near  the  window,  and  shouted  in  a  thundering  voice, — 

"  Come  off  the  bed  directly,  idler ;  you  never  will  do  any 
thing :  break  a  pane  of  glass  !  " 

The  little  girl  jumped  off  the  bed,  shivering. 

"  Break  a  pane  !  "  he  continued. 

The  girl  was  quite  stunned,  and,  did  not  move, 


1 64  LES   MISERABLES. 

"Do  you  hear  me?"  the  father  repeated,  "I  tell  you  to 
break  a  pane." 

The  child,  with  a  sort  of  terrified  obedience,  stood  on  tip- 
toe, and  broke  a  pane  with  her  fist;  the  glass  fell  with  a 
great  clash. 

"  All  right !  "  said  the  father. 

He  was  serious  and  active,  and  his  eye  rapidly  surveyed 
every  corner  of  the  garret ;  he  was  like  a  general  who  makes 
his  final  preparations  at  the  moment  when  an  action  is  about 
to  begin.  The  mother,  who  had  not  yet  said  a  word,  rose  and 
asked  in  a  slow,  dull  voice,  the  words  seeming  to  issue  as  if 
frozen, — 

"  Darling,  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  Go  to  bed,"  the  man  replied. 

The  tone  admitted  of  no  deliberation,  the  mother  obeyed, 
and  threw  herself  heavily  on  one  of  the  beds.  A  sobbing  was 
now  audible  in  a  corner. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  the  father  cried. 

The  younger  girl,  without  leaving  the  gloom  in  which  she 
was  crouching,  showed  her  bleeding  hand.  In  breaking  the 
glass  she  had  cut  herself ;  she  had  crawled  close  to  her  mother's 
bed,  and  was  now  crying  silently.  It  was  the  mother's  turn  to 
draw  herself  up  and  cry  : 

"  You  see  what  nonsensical  acts  you  commit !  she  has  cut 
herself  in  breaking  the  window." 

"  All  the  better,"  said  the  man,  "  I  expected  it." 

"  How  all  the  better?  "  the  woman  continued. 

"  Silence  !  "  the  fath.er  replied,  "  I  suppress  the  liberty  of  the 
press." 

Then,  tearing  the  chemise  which  he  wore,  he  made  a  ban- 
dage, with  which  he  quickly  wrapped  up  the  girl's  bleeding 
hand  ;  this  done,  his  eye  settled  on  the  torn  shirt  with  satis- 
faction. 

"  And  the  shirt  too !  "  he  said,  "  all  this  looks  well." 

An  icy  blast  blew  through  the  pane  and  entered  the  room. 
The  external  fog  penetrated  it,  and  dilated  like  a  white  wad- 
ding pulled  open  by  invisible  fingers.  The  snow  could  be  seen 
falling  through  the  broken  pane,  and  the  cold  promised  by  the 
Candlemas  sun  had  really  arrived. 

The  father  took  a  look  around  him,  as  if  to  make  sure  that 
he  had  forgotten  nothing,  then  he  fetched  an  old  spade  and 
strewed  the  ashes  over  the  wet  logs  so  as  to  conceal  them 
entirely. 


MARIUS.  165 

Then  getting  up  and  leaning  against  the  chimney-piece,  he 
said, — 

"  Now  we  can  receive  the  philanthropist." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    SUNBEAM    IN    THE    GARRET. 

THE  elder  girl  walked  up  to  her  father,  and  laid  her  hand  in 
his. 

"Just  feel  how  cold  I  am  !  "  she  said. 

"  Stuff!  "  the  father  answered,  "  I  am  much  colder  than 
that." 

The  mother  cried  impetuously, — 

"  You  always  have  every  thing  better  than  the  others,  the 
evil  even." 

"  To  kennel !  "  the  man  said. 

The  mother,  looked  at  by  him  in  a  certain  way,  held  her 
tongue,  and  there  was  a  momentary  silence  in  the  den.  The 
elder  girl  was  carelessly  removing  the  mud  from  the  edge  of  her 
cloak,  and  her  younger  sister  continued  to  sob.  The  mother 
had  taken  her  head  between  her  hands,  and  covered  it  with 
kisses,  while  whispering, — 

"  Pray  do  not  go  on  so,  my  treasure,  it  will  be  nothing,  so 
don't  cry,  or  you  will  vex  your  father." 

"No,"  the  father  cried,  "  on  the  contrary,  sob  away,  for  that 
does  good." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  elder  girl, — 

"  Why,  he  is  not  coming  !  suppose  he  were  not  to  come  !  1 
should  have  broken  my  pane,  put  out  my  fire,  unseated  my 
chair,  and  torn  my  shirt  all  for  nothing." 

"  And  hurt  the  little  one,"  the  mother  murmured. 

"  Do  you  know,"  the  father  continued,  "  that  it  is  infernally 
cold  in  this  devil's  own  garret  ?  Suppose  the  man  did  not 
come  !  but  no,  he  is  keeping  us  waiting,  and  says  to  himself, 
'  Well,  they  will  wait  my  pleasure,  they  are  sem  into  the 
world  for  that !  '  Oh  !  how  I  hate  the  rich,  and  with  what 
joy,  jubilation,  enthusiasm,  and  satisfaction  would  I  strangle 
them  all !  All  the  rich,  I  say,  those  pretended  charitable  men 
who  play  the  devout,  attend  mass,  keep  in  with  the  priests 
and  believe  themselves  above  us,  and  who  come  to  humiliate 
us,  and  bring  us  clothes.  How  they  talk?  they  bring  us  old 


1 66  LES   MISERABLES. 

rubbish  not  worth  four  sous  and  bread  ;  but  it  is  not  that  I 
want,  you  pack  of  scoundrels,  but  money.  Ah,  money  !  never  ! 
because  they  say  that  we  would  go  and  drink,  and  that  we  are 
drunkards  and  idlers.  And  they,  what  are  they,  pray,  and 
what  have  they  been  in  their  time?  Thieves,  for  they  could 
not  have  grown  rich  without  that.  Oh !  society  ought  to  be 
taken  by  the  four  corners  of  a  table-cloth,  and  the  whole  lot 
thrown  into  the  air!  all  would  be  broken,  very  possible,  but  at 
any  rate  no  one  would  have  any  thing,  and  that  would  be  so 
much  gained  !  But1  what  is  your  humbug  of  a  benevolent  gen- 
tleman about  ?  will  he  come  ?  perhaps  the  animal  has  forgot- 
ten the  address.  I  will  bet  that  the  old  brute — " 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door  ;  the  man 
rushed  forward  and  opened  it,  while  exclaiming  with  deep  bows 
*nd  smiles  of  adoration, — 

"  Come  in,  sir,  deign  to  enter,  my  respected  benefactor,  as 
well  as  your  charming  daughter." 

A  man  of  middle  age  and  a  young  lady  stood  in  the  door- 
way 

Marius  had  not  left  his  post,  and  what  he  felt  at  this  moment 
is  beyond  the  human  tongue. 

It  was  she ;  and  any  one  who  has  loved  knows  the  radiant 
meaning  conveyed  in  the  three  letters  that  form  the  word  She. 
It  was  certainly  she,  though  Marius  could  hardly  distinguish 
her  through  the  luminous  vapor  which  had  suddenly  spread 
over  his  eyes.  It  was  the  gentle  creature  he  had  lost,  the  star 
which  had  gleamed  on  him  for  six  months,  it  was  the  forehead, 
the  mouth,  the  lovely  mouth  which  had  produced  night  by  de- 
parting. The  eclipse  was  over,  and  she  now  reappeared — reap- 
peared in  this  darkness,  in  this  attic,  in  this  filthy  den,  in  this 
horror. 

Marius  trembled.  What !  it  was  she  !  the  palpitation  of  his 
heart  affected  his  sight,  and  he  felt  ready  to  burst  into  tears. 
What !  he  saw  her  again  after  seeking  her  so  long  !  it  seemed 
to  him  as  if  he  had  lost  his  soul  and  had  just  found  it  again. 

She  was  still  the  same,  though,  perhaps,  a  little  paler;  her 
delicate  face  was  framed  in  a  violet  velvet  bonnet,  and  her 
waist  was  hidden  by  a  black  satin  pelisse,  a  glimpse  of  her 
little  foot  in  a  silk  boot  could  be  caught  under  her  long  dress. 

She  was  accompanied  by  M.  Leblanc,  and  she  walked  into 
the  room  and  placed  a  rather  large  parcel  on  the  table. 

The  elder  girl  had  withdrawn  behind  the  door  and  looked 
with  a  jealous  eye  at  the  velvet  bonnet,  the  satin  pelisse,  and 
the  charming,  happy  face. 


MARIUS.  167 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JONDRETTE  ALMOST  WEEPS. 

THE  garre  was  so  dark  that  persons  who  came  into  it  felt 
much  as  if  they  were  going  into  a  cellar.  The  two  new- 
comers, therefore,  advanced  with  some  degree  of  hesitation, 
scarce  distinguishing  tlie  vague  forms  around  them,  while  they 
were  perfectly  seen  and  examined  by  the  eyes  of  the  denizens 
in  the  attic,  who  were  accustomed  to  this  gloom. 

M.  Leblanc  walked  up  to  Father  Jondrette,  with  his  sad  and 
gentle  smile,  and  said, — 

"You  will  find  in  this  parcel,  sir,  new  apparel,  woolen  stock- 
ings, and  blankets." 

"  Our  angelic  benefactor  overwhelms  us,  Jondrette  said,  bow- 
ing to  the  ground;  then,  bending  down  to  the  ear  of  his  elder 
daughter  he  added  in  a  hurried  whisper,  while  the  two  visitors 
were  examining  this  lamentable  interior, — 

"Did  I  not  say  so?  clothes  but  no  money.  They  are  all 
alike.  By  the  way,  how  was  the  letter  to  the  old  ass  signed  ?  " 

"  Fabantou." 

"  The  actor,  all  right." 

It  was  lucky  that  Jondrette  asked  this,  for  at  the  same 
moment  M.  Leblanc,  turned  to  him,  and  said  with  the  air  of  a 
person  who  is  trying  to  remember  the  name, — 

"I  see  that  you  are  much  to  be  pitied,  Monsieur — " 

"  Fabantou,"  Jondrette  quickly  added. 

"  Mousieur  Fabantou,  yes,  that  is  it,  I  remember." 

"  An  actor,  sir,  who  has  been  successful  in  his  time." 

Here  Jondrette  evidently  believed  the  moment  arrived  to 
trap  his  philanthropist,  and  he  shouted  in  a  voice  which  had 
some  of  the  bombast  of  the  country  showman,  and  the  humility 
of  the  professional  beggar, — "A  pupil  of  Talma,  sir!  I  am  a 
pupil  of  Talma!  fortune  smiled  upon  me  formerly,  but  now, 
alas !  the  turn  of  misfortune  has  arrived.  You  see,  my  bene- 
factor, we  have  no  bread,  no  fire.  My  poor  babies  have  no 
fire.  My  sole  chair  without  a  seat !  a  pane  of  glass  broken!  in 
such  weather  as  this  !  my  wife  in  bed,  ill ! " 

"  Poor  woman  !  "  said  M.  Leblanc. 

"  My  child  hurt,"  Jondrette  added. 


1 68  LES   MISERABLES. 

The  child,  distracted  by  the  arrival  of  the  strangers,  was 
staring  at  the  "  young  lady,"  and  ceased  sobbing. 

"  Cry,  I  tell  you,  roar  !  "  Jondrette  whispered  to  her.  At 
the  same  time  he  squeezed  her  bad  hand.  All  this  was  done 
with  the  talent  of  a  conjurer.  The  little  one  uttered  piercing 
cries,  and  the  adorable  girl  whom  Marius  called  in  his  heart, 
"  his  Ursule,"  eagerly  went  up  to  her. 

"  Poor  dear  child  !  "  she  said. 

"  You  see,  respected  young  lady,"  Jondrette  continued,  "  her 
hand  is  bleeding.  It  is  the  result  of  an  accident  which 
happened  to  her  while  working  at  a  factory  to  earn  six  sous  a 
day.  It  is  possible  that  her  arm  will  have  to  be  cut  off." 

"  Really  ?  "  the  old  gentleman  said  in  alarm. 

The  little  girl,  taking  this  remark  seriously,  began  sobbing 
again  her  loudest. 

"  Alas,  yes,  my  benefactor  1 "  the  father  answered. 

For  some  minutes  past  Jondrette  had  been  looking  at  the 
"  philanthropist  "  in  a  peculiar  way,  and  while  speaking  seemed 
to  be  scrutinizing  him  attentively,  as  if  trying  to  recall  his  rec- 
ollections. All  at  once,  profitting  by  a  moment  during  which 
the  new-comers  were  questioning  the  little  girl  about  her  injured 
hand,  he  passed  close  to  his  wife,  who  was  lying  in  her  bed 
with  a  surprised  and  stupid  air,  and  said  to  her,  in  a  hurried 
whisper, — 

"  Look  at  that  man  ! " 

Then  he  turned  to  M.  Leblanc,  and  continued  his  lamenta- 
tions. 

"  Look,  sir !  my  sole  clothing  consists  of  a  chemise  of  my 
wife's,  all  torn,  in  the  heart  of  winter.  I  cannot  go  out  for 
want  of  a  coat  and  if  I  had  the  smallest  bit  of  a  coat  I  would 
go  and  call  on  Mademoiselle  Mars,  who  knows  me,  and  is  much 
attached  to  me  ;  does  she  still  live  in  the  Rue  de  la  Tour  des 
Dames  ?  Do  you  know,  sir,  that  we  played  together  in  the  prov- 
inces, and  that  I  shared  her  laurels  ?  Celimene  would  come  to 
my  help,  sir,  and  Elmire  give  alms  to  Belisarius.  But  no,  noth- 
ing !  and  not  a  half-penny  piece  in  the  house  !  my  wife  ill,  not 
a  sou !  my  daughter  dangerously  injured,  not  a  sou !  my  wife 
suffers  from  shortness  of  breath — it  comes  from  her  age,  and 
then  the  nervous  system  is  mixed  up  in  it.  She  requires  as- 
sistance and  so  does  my  daughter.  But  the  physician  and  the 
apothecary,  how  are  they  to  be  paid,  if  I  have  not  a  farthing? 
I  would  kneel  down  before  a  decine.  sir.  You  see  to  what  the 
arts  are  reduced.  And  do  you  know,  my  charming  young 
lady,  and  you,  my  generous  protector,  who  exhale  virtue  and 


MARIUS.  169 

goodness,  and  who  perfume  the  church  where  my  poor  child 
sees  you  daily  when  she  goes  to  say  her  prayers !  for  I  am 
bringing  up  my  daughters  in  religion,  sir,  and  did  not  wish  them 
to  turn  to  the  stage.  I  do  not  jest,  sir,  read  them  lectures  of 
honor,  morality,  and  virtue.  Just  ask  them !  they  must  go 
straight,  for  they  have  a  father.  They  are  not  wretched  girls 
who  begin  by  having  no  family,  and  finish  by  marrying  the 
public.  Such  a  girl  is  Miss  Nobody,  and  becomes  Madame  all 
the  World.  There  must  be  nothing  of  that  sort  in  the  Fab- 
antou  family  !  I  intend  to  educate  them  virtuously,  and  they 
must  be  respectable,  and  honest,  and  believe  in  God's  holy 
name.  Well,  sir,  worthy  sir,  do  you  know  what  will  happen 
to-morrow?  To-morrow  is  the  fatal  4th  February,  the  last  res- 
pite my  landlord  has  granted  me,  and  if  I  do  not  pay  my  rent 
by  to-night  my  eldest  daughter,  myself,  my  wife  with  her  fever, 
my  child  with  her  wound,  will  be  all  four  of  us  turned  out  of 
here  into  the  street,  shelterless  in  the  rain  and  snow.  That  is 
the  state  of  the  case,  sir  !  I  owe  four  quarters,  a  year's  rent, 
that  is  to  say,  sixty  francs." 

Jondrette  lied,  for  four  quarters  would  only  have  been  forty 
francs,  and  he  could  not  owe  four,  as  it  was  not  six  months 
since  Marius  had  paid  two  for  him. 

M.  Leblanc  took  a  five-franc  piece  from  his  pocket  and  threw 
it  on  the  table.  Jondrette  had  time  to  growl  in  his  grown-up 
daughter's  ear, — 

"  The  scamp !  what  does  he  expect  me  to  do  with  his  five 
francs  ?  They  will  not  pay  for  the  chair  and  pane  of  glass. 
There's  the  result  of  making  an  outlay." 

In  the  meanwhile,  M.  Leblanc  had  taken  off  a  heavy  brown 
coat,  which  he  wore  over  his  blue  one,  and  thrown  it  on  the 
back  of  a  chair. 

"  Monsieur  Fabantou,"  he  said,  "  I  have  only  these  five 
francs  about  me,  but  I  will  take  my  daughter  home  and  return 
to-night.  Is  it  not  to-night  that  you  have  to  pay?  " 

Jondrette's  face  was  lit  up  with  a  strange  expression,  and  he 
hurriedly  answered, — 

"  Yes,  respected  sir,  I  must  be  with  my  landlord  by  eight 
o'clock." 

"  I  will  be  here  by  six,  and  bring  you  the  sixty  francs." 

"My  benefactor!"  Jondrette  exclaimed  wildly,  and  he 
added  in  a  whisper, — 

"  Look  at  him  carefully,  wife." 

M.  Lablanc  had  given  his  arm  to  the  lovely  young  lady,  and 
was  turning  to  the  door. 


I/O  LES   MISERABLES. 

"  Till  this  evening,  my  friends,"  he  said. 

"  At  six  o'clock  ?  "  Jondrette  asked. 

"  At  six  o'clock  precisely." 

At  this  moment  the  overcoat  left  on  the  back  of  the  chair 
caught  the  eye  of  the  elder  girl. 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  "  you  are  forgetting  your  great  coat." 

Jondrette  gave  his  daughter  a  crushing  glance,  accompanied 
by  a  formidable  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  but  M.  Leblanc  turned 
and  replied  smilingly, — 

"  I  do  not  forget  it,  I'll  leave  it." 

"  Oh,  my  protector,"  said  Jondrette,  "  my  august  benefactor, 
I  am  melting  into  tears  !  permit  me  to  conduct  you  to  your 
vehicle." 

"  If  you  go  out,"  M.  Leblanc  remarked,  "  put  on  that  over- 
coat, for  it  is  really  very  cold." 

Jondrette  did  not  let  this  be  said  twice,  but  eagerly  put  on 
the  brown  coat.  Then  they  all  three  went  out,  Jondrette  pre- 
ceding the  two  strangers. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  TARIFF  OF  CAB- FARES. 

MARIUS  had  lost  nothing  of  all  this  scene,  and  yet  in  reality 
he  had  seen  nothing.  His  eyes  remained  fixed  on  the  maiden, 
his  heart  had,  so  to  speak,  seized  and  entirely  enfolded  her  from 
her  first  step  into  the  garret.  During  the  whole  time  she  had 
been  there  he  had  lived  that  life  of  ecstasy  which  suspends 
material  preceptions,  and  concentrates  the  whole  mind  upon 
one  point.  He  contemplated  not  the  girl,  but  the  radiance 
which  was  dressed  in  a  satin  pelisse  and  a  velvet  bonnet.  Had 
the  planet  Sirius  entered  the  room  he  would  not  have  been 
more  dazzled. 

While  she  was  opening  the  parcel,  and  unfolding  the  clothes 
and  blankets,  questioning  the  sick  mother  kindly,  and  the  little 
wounded  girl  tenderly,  he  watched  her  every  movement,  and 
tried  to  hear  her  words.  Though  he  knew  her  eyes,  her  fore- 
head, her  beauty,  her  waist,  and  her  walk,  he  did  not  know  the 
sound  of  her  voice.  He  fancied  that  he  had  caught  a  few  words 
once  at  the  Luxembourg,  but  he  was  not  absolutely  sure.  He 
would  have  given  ten  years  of  his  life  to  hear  her,  and  to  carry 
off  in  his  soul  a  little  of  this  music,  but  all  was  lost  in  the. 


MARIUS.  171 

lamentable  braying  of  Jondrette's  trumpet.  This  mingled  a 
real  anger  with  Marius'  ravishment,  and  he  devoured  her  with 
his  eyes,  for  he  could  not  imagine  that  it  was  really  this  divine 
creature  whom  he  perceived  among  these  unclean  beings  in 
this  monstrous  den  ;  he  fancied  that  he  saw  a  humming-bird 
among  frogs. 

When  she  left  the  room  he  had  but  one  thought, — to  follow 
her,  to  attach  himself  to  her  trail,  not  to  leave  her  till  he  knew 
where  she  lived,  or  at  least  not  to  lose  her  again  after  having 
so  miraculously  found  her.  He  leapt  off  the  drawers,  and  seized 
his  hat,  but  just  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  latch  and  was  going 
out  a  reflection  arrested  him  ;  tlie  passage  was  long,  the  stair- 
case steep,  Jondrette  chattering,  and  M.  Lablanc  had  doubtless 
not  yet  got  into  his  coach  again.  If,  turning  in  the  passage, 
or  on  the  stairs,  lie  were  to.  perceive  him,  Marius,  in  this  house, 
he  would  assuredly  be  alarmed,  and  find  means  to  escape  him 
again,  and  so  all  would  be  over  for  the  second  time.  What  was 
to  be  done  ?  wait  awhile  ?  but  during  this  delay  the  vehicle 
might  start  off.  Marius  was  perplexed,  but  at  length  risked  it, 
and  left  the  room. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  passage,  and  he  ran  to  the  stairs, 
and  as  there  was  no  one  upon  them,  he  hurried  down  and 
reached  the  boulevard  just  in  time  to  see  a  hackney  coach  turn- 
ing the  corner  of  the  Rue  du  Petit  Banquet  «on  its  road  to 
Paris. 

Marius  rushed  in  that  direction,  and,  on  reaching  the  corner 
of  the  boulevard,  saw  the  hackney  coach  again  rapidly  rolling 
along  the  Rue  MoufFetard  ;  it  was  already  some  distance  off, 
and  he  had  no  means  of  catching  it  up.  Running  after  it  was 
an  impossibility ;  and  besides,  a  man  running  at  full  speed 
after  the  vehicle  would  be  seen  from  it,  and  the  father  would 
recognize  him.  At  this  moment,  by  an  extraordinary  and 
marvellous  accident,  Marius  perceived  a  cab  passing  along  the 
boulevard,  empty.  There  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done,  get 
into  this  cab  and  follow  the  hackney  coach  ;  that  was  sure,  effi- 
cacious, and  without  danger. 

Marius  made  the  driver  a  sign  to  stop,  and  shouted  to  him, 
"  By  the  hour  !  " 

Marius  had  no  cravat  on,  he  wore  his  old  working  coat,  from 
which  buttons  were  missing,  and  one  of  the  plaits  of  his  shirt 
was  torn. 

The  driver  stopped,  winked,  and  held  out  to  Marius  his  left 
hand,  as  he  gently  rubbed  his  forefinger  with  his  thumb. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Marius  asked. 


LES   MISERABLES. 

"  Payment  in  advance,"  said  the  coachman. 

Marius  remembered  that  he  had  only  sixteen  sous  in  his 
pocket. 

"  How  much  is  it?" 

"  Forty  sous." 

"  I  will  pay  on  returning." 

The  driver,  in  reply,  whistled  the  air  of  La  Palisso,  and 
lashed  his  horses. 

Marius  watched  the  cab  go  off  with  a  haggard  look  ;  for  the 
want  of  twenty-four  sous,  he  lost  his  joy,  his  happiness,  his 
love  !  he  fell  back  into  night !  he  had  seen,  and  was  becoming 
blind  again.  He  thought  bitterly,  and,  we  must  add,  with 
deep  regret,  of  the  five  francs  which  he  had  given  that  very 
morning  to  the  wretched  girl.  If  he  had  still  had  them,  he 
would  be  saved,  would  emerge  from  limbo  and  darkness,  and 
be  drawn  from  isolation,  spleen  and  widowhood  ;  he  would 
have  reattached  the  black  thread  of  his  destiny  to  the  beau- 
teous golden  thread  which  had  just  floated  before  his  eyes,  only 
to  be  broken  again  !  He  returned  to  his  garret  in  despair. 

He  might  have  said  to  himself  that  M.  Leblanc  had  prom- 
ised to  return  that  evening,  and  that  then  he  must  contrive  to 
follow  him  better;  but  in  his  contemplation  he  had  scarce 
heard  him. 

Just  as  he  was  going  up  the  stairs  he  noticed  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wall,  and  against  the  deserted  wall  of  the  Rue  de 
la  Barrie're  des  Gobelins,  Jondrette,  wrapped  up  in  the  "  phil- 
anthropist's "  overcoat,  and  conversing  with  one  of  those  ill- 
looking  men  who  are  usually  called  prowlers  at  the  barriere  ; 
men  with  equivocal  faces  and  suspicious  soliloquies,  who  look 
as  if  they  entertain  evil  thoughts,  and  most  usually  sleep  by 
day,  which  leads  to  the  supposition  that  they  work  at  night. 

These  two  men  standing  to  talk  in  the  snow,  which  was  fall- 
ing heavily,  formed  a  group  which  a  policeman  would  cer- 
tainly have  observed,  but  which  Marius  scarce  noticed. 

Still,  though  his  preoccupation  was  so  painful,  he  could  not 
help  saying  to  himself  that  the  man  to  whom  Jondrette  was 
talking  was  like  a  certain  Panchaud,  alias  Printanier,  alias 
Bigrenaille,  whom  Courfeyrac  had  once  pointed  out  to  him, 
and  who  was  regarded  in  the  quarter  as  a  very  dangerous  night- 
bird.  This  Panchaud  afterwards  figured  in  several  criminal 
trials,  and  eventually  became  a  celebrated  villain,  though  at 
this  time  he  was  only  a  famous  villain.  At  the  present  day  he 
is  in  a  traditionary  state  among  the  bandits  and  burglars.  He 
was  the  model  toward  the  enc1  ot  the  last  reign,  and  people 


MARIUS.  173 

used  to  talk  about  him  in  the  Lion's  den  at  La  Force,  at  night- 
fall, at  the  hour  when  groups  assemble  and  converse  in  whis- 
pers. In  this  prison,  and  at  the  exact  spot  where  the  sewer, 
which  served  as  the  way  of  escape  for  the  thirty  prisoners  in 
1843,  opened,  this  name,  PANCHAUD,  might  be  seen  daringly 
cut  in  the  wall  over  the  sewer,  in  one  of  his  attempted  escapes. 
In  1832,  the  police  already  had  their  eye  on  him,  but  he  had 
not  yet  fairly  made  a  start. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WRETCHEDNESS   HELPS    SORROW. 

MARIUS  ascended  the  stairs  slowly,  and  at  the  moment  when 
he  was  going  to  enter  his  cell  he  perceived  behind  him,  in  the 
passage,  the  elder  of  Jondrette's  girls  following  him.  This 
girl  was  odious  in  his  sight,  for  it  was  she  who  had  his  five 
francs,  but  it  was  too  late  to  ask  them  back  from  her,  for  both 
the  hackney  coach  and  the  cab  were  now  far  away.  Besides, 
the  would  not  return  them  to  him.  As  for  questioning  her 
about  the  abode  of  the  persons  who  had  been  here  just  now, 
that  was  useless,  and  it  was  plain  that  she  did  not  know,  for 
the  letter  signed  Fabantou  was  addressed  to  the  "  benevolent 
gentleman  of  the  church  of  St.  Jacques  du  Haut-pas." 

Marius  went  into  his  room  and  threw  the  door  to  after  him, 
but  it  did  not  close  ;  he  turned  and  saw  a  hand  in  the  aper- 
ture. 

«  Who's  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

It  was  the  girl. 

"  Oh !  it's  you ! "  Marius  continued  almost  hoarsely, 
"  always  you.  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 

She  seemed  thoughtful,  and  made  no  answer,  and  she  no 
longer  had  her  boldness  of  the  morning  ;  she  did  not  come  in, 
but  stood  in  the  dark  passage,  where  Marius  perceived  her 
through  the  half-open  door. 

"  Well,  answer,"  said  Marius,  "  what  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 

She  raised  her  dull  eye,  in  which  a  sort  of  lustre  seemed  to 
be  vaguely  illumined,  and  said, — 

"  Monsieur  Marius,  you  look  sad  ;  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Yes,  there  is !  " 


1/4  LES   MISERABLES. 

"  Leave  me  alone  !  " 

Marius  pushed  the  door  again,  but  she  still  held  it. 

"Stay,"  she  said,  "you  are  wrong.  Though  you  are  not 
rich,  you  were  kind  {his  morning,  and  be  so  again  now.  You 
gave  me  food,  and  now  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with  you.  It 
is  easy  to  see  that  you  are  in  sorrow,  and  I  do  not  wish  you  to 
be  so.  What  can  I  do  to  prevent  it,  and  can  I  be  of  any 
service  to  you  ?  Employ  me  ;  I  do  not  ask  for  your  secrets, 
and  you  need  not  tell  them  to  me,  but  I  may  be  of  use  to  you. 
Surely  I  can  help  you,  as  I  help  my  father.  When  there  are 
any  letters  to  deliver,  or  any  address  to  be  found  by  following 
people,  or  asking  from  door  to  door,  I  am  employed.  Well, 
you  can  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with  you  and  I  will  go  and 
speak  to  persons.  Now  and  then  it  is  sufficient  for  some  one 
to  speak  to  persons  in  order  to  find  out  things,  and  all  is  ar- 
ranged. Employ  me." 

An  idea  crossed  Marius'  mind,  for  no  branch  is  despised 
when  we  feel  ourselves  falling.  He  walked  up  to  the  girl. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said ;  "  you  brought  an  old  gentleman 
and  his  daughter  here." 

«  Yes." 

"  Do  you  know  their  address  ?  " 

"  No." 

«  Find  it  for  me." 

The  girl's  eye,  which  was  dull,  had  become  joyous,  bu^  now 
it  became  gloomy. 

'  Is  that  what  you  want  ?  "  she  asked. 
Yes." 

Do  you  know  them  ?  " 
;  No." 

That   is  to  say,"  she  added  quickly,  "you  don't  know  her 
but  you  would  like  to  know  her." 

This  "them,"  which  became  "  her,"  had  something  most 
significant  and  bitter  about  it. 

"  Well,  can  you  do  it?"  Marius  said. 

"  You  shall  have  the  '  lovely  young  lady's  '  address." 

In  these  words  there  was  again  a  meaning  which  annoyed 
Marius,  so  he  went  on,  — 

'•  Well,  no  matter !  the  father  and  daughter's  address,  their 
address,  I  say." 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly. 

"  What  will  you  give  me  for  it  ?  " 

"  Whatever  you  like." 

"  Whatever  I  like  ?  you  shall  have  the  address." 


MARIUS.  175 

She  hung  her  head,  and  then  closed  the  door  with  a  hurried 
gesture  ;  Marius  was  alone  again.  He  fell  into  a  chair,  with 
his  head  and  elbows  on  his  bed,  sunk  in  thoughts  which  he 
could  not  grasp,  and  suffering  from  a  dizziness.  All  that  had 
happened  since  this  morning,  the  apparition  of  the  angel,  her 
disappearance,  and  what  this  creature  had  just  said  to  him,  a 
gleam  of  hope  floating  in  an  immense  despair — this  is  what 
confusedly  filled  his  brain.  All  at  once  he  was  violently 
dragged  out  of  his  reverie,  for  he  heard  Jondrette's  loud,  hard 
voice  uttering  words  full  of  the  strangest  interest  for  him. 
"  I  tell  you  that  I  am  sure,  and  that  I  recognized  him." 
Of  whom  was  Jondrette  talking,  and  whom  had  he  recog< 
nized?  M.  Leblanc,  the  father  of  "  his  Ursule."  What !  did 
Jondrette  know  him  ?  Was  Marius  going  to  obtain,  in  this 
sudden  and  unexpected  fashion,  all  the  information  without 
which  his  life  was  obscure  for  himself?  was  he  at  last  going 
to  know  who  she  was  whom  he  loved,  and  who  her  father 
was  ?  Was  the  thick  cloud  that  covered  them  on  the  point  of 
clearing  off  ?  would  the  veil  be  rent  asunder  ?  Oh,  heavens  ! 
He  bounded  rather  than  ascended  upon  the  chest  of  drawers 
and  resumed  his  place  at  the  aperture  in  the  partition  :  once 
more  he  saw  the  interior  of  Jondrette's  den. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    USE    OP   M.    LE    BLANC'S   FIVE   FRANC   PIECE. 

THERE  was  no  change  in  the  appearance  of  the  family,  save 
that  mother  and  daughters  had  put  on  stockings  and  flannel 
waistcoats  taken  out  of  the  parcel,  and  two  new  blankets  were 
thrown  on  the  beds.  The  man  had  evidently  just  returned,  for 
he  was  out  of  breath ;  his  daughters  were  seated  near  the 
chimney-piece  on  the  ground,  the  elder  tying  up  the  younger's 
hand.  The  mother  was  crouching  on  the  bed  near  the  fire- 
place, with  an  astonished  face,  while  Jondrette  was  walking  up 
and  down  the  room  with  long  strides  and  extraordinary  eyes. 

The  woman,  who  seemed  frightened  and  struck  with  stupor 
before  him,  ventured  to  say, — 

"  What,  really,  are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Sure !  it  is  eight  years  ago,  but  I  can  recognize  him  1  I 
recognized  him  at  once.  What !  did  it  not  strike  you  ?  " 

"  No." 


1/6  LES   MISERABLES. 

"And  yet  I  said  to  you,  '  Pay  attention  ! '  Why,  it  is  his 
figure,  his  face,  very  little  older — for  there  are  some  people 
who  never  age,  though  I  do  not  know  how  they  manage  it,  and 
the  sound  of  his  voice.  He  is  better  dressed,  that's  all !  Ah ! 
you  mysterious  old  villain,  I  hold  you  !  " 

He  stopped  and  said  to  his  daughters, — 

"  Be  off,  you  two  ! — It  is  funny  that  it  did  not  strike  you." 

They  rose  to  obey,  and  the  mother  stammered, — 

"With  her  bad  hand?" 

"  The  air  will  do  it  good,"  said  Jondrette.    "  Off  with  you." 

It  was  evident  that  this  man  was  one  of  those  who  are  not 
answered.  The  girls  went  out,  but  just  as  they  passed  the 
door  the  father  clutched  the  elder  by  the  arm,  and  said,  with  a 
peculiar  accent, — 

"  You  will  be  here  at  five  o'clock  precisely,  both  of  you, 
for  I  shall  want  you." 

Harms  redoubled  his  attention.  When  left  alone  with  his 
wife,  Jondrette  began  walking  up  and  down  the  room  again, 
and  took  two  or  three  turns  in  silence.  Then  he  spent  several 
minutes  thrusting  the  tail  of  the  chemise  which  he  wore  into 
his  trousers.  All  at  once  he  turned  to  his  wife,  folded  his  arms, 
and  exclaimed, — 

"  And  shall  I  tell  you  something?  the  young  lady — " 

"  Well,  what?"  the  wife  retorted. 

Marius  could  not  doubt,  they  were  really  talking  about  her. 
He  listened  with  ardent  anxiety,  and  all  his  life  was  in  his  ears. 
But  Jondrette  had  stooped  down,  and  was  whispering  to  his 
wife.  Then  he  rose,  and  ended  aloud, — 

"It  is  she." 

"  That  one?  "  the  wife  asked. 

"  That  one  !  "  said  the  husband. 

No  expression  could  render  all  there  was  in  the  mother's 
that  one,  it  was  surprise,  rage,  hatred,  and  passion  mingled  and 
combined  in  a  monstrous  intonation.  A  few  words,  doubtless 
a  name  which  her  husband  whispered  in  her  ear,  were  suffi- 
cient to  arouse  this  fat,  crushed  woman,  and  to  make  her  more 
than  repulsive  and  frightful. 

"  It  is  not  possible,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  when  I  think  that  my 
daughters  go  about  barefooted,  and  have  not  a  gown  to  put  on  ! 
What !  a  satin  pelisse,  a  velvet  bonnet,  clothes  worth  more 
than  two  hundred  francs,  so  that  you  might  take  her  for  a 
lady  !  no  !  you  are  mistaken  !  and  then,  the  other  was  hideous, 
while  this  one  is  not  ugly,  indeed,  rather  good-looking :  oh,  it 
cannot  be  ! " 


MARIUS.  177 

"  And  I  tdil  you  that  it  is ;  you  will  see." 

At  this  absolute  assertion  the  woman  raised  her  large  red 
and  white  face  and  looked  at  the  ceiling  with  a  hideous  expres- 
sion. At  this  moment  she  appeared  to  Marius  even  more 
formidable  than  her  husband,  for  she  was  a  sow  with  the  glance 
of  a  tigress. 

"What!"  she  continued,  "that  horrible  young  lady  who 
looked  at  my  daughters  with  an  air  of  pity  is  that  vagabond  ! 
Oh  !  I  should  like  to  dance  on  her  stomach  in  wooden  shoes." 

She  leaped  off  the  bed,  and  stood  for  a  moment  unkempt, 
with  swollen  nostrils,  parted  lips,  and  clenched  fists ;  then  she 
fell  back  again  on  the  bed.  The  husband  walked  up  and  down 
and  paid  no  attention  to  his  wife.  After  a  short  silence  he 
went  up  to  her,  and  stood  in  front  of  her  with  folded  arms,  as 
he  had  done  a  few  moments  previously. 

"  And  shall  I  tell  you  something  else  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  replied  in  a  low,  guttural  voice,  "That  my  fortune  is 
made." 

The  wife  looked  at  him  in  the  way  which  means,  "  Can  the 
man  who  is  talking  to  me  have  suddenly  gone  mad  ?  "  He 
continued, — 

"  Thunder  !  I  have  been  a  long  time  a  parishioner  of  the 
parish  of  die-of  hunger-if-you-are-cold,  and  die-of-cold-if-you- 
have-bread  !  I  have  had  enough  of  that  misery !  I  am  not 
jesting,  for  I  no  longer  consider  this  comical.  I  have  had 
enough  jokes,  good  God !  and  want  no  more  farces,  by  the 
Eternal  Father!  I  wish  to  eat  when  I  am  hungry,  and  drink 
when  I  am  thirsty :  to  gorge,  sleep,  and  do  nothing.  I  want 
to  have  my  turn  now,  and  mean  to  he  a  bit  of  a  millionnaire 
before  I  rot !  "  He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  and  added, 
"Like  the  rest  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  his  wife  asked. 

He  shook  his  head,  winked,  and  raised  his  voice  like  a  street 
quack,  who  is  going  to  furnish  a  proof. 

"  What  I  mean  ?  listen  !  " 

"  Not  so  loud,"  said  his  wife,  "if  it  is  business  which  ought 
not  to  be  overheard." 

"  Nonsense  !  by  whom  ?  by  the  neighbor  ?  I  saw  him  go 
out  just  now.  Besides,  what  does  that  long-legged  ass  listen 
to?  and  then  I  tell  you  I  saw  him  go  out."  Still,  by  a  species 
of  instinct,  Jondrette  lowered  his  voice,  though  not  so  low  that 
his  remarks  escaped  Marius.  A  favorable  circumstance  was 
12 


1/8  LES  MISERABLES. 

that  the  fallen  snow  deadened  the  sound  of  the  vehicles  on  the 
boulevard.  This  is  what  Marius  heard  : — 

"  Listen  carefully.  The  Croesus  is  trapped,  or  as  good  as 
trapped.  It  is  done,  arranged,  and  I  have  seen  the  people.  He 
will  come  at  six  this  evening  to  bring  the  sixty  francs,  the 
vagabond  !  Did  you  notice  how  I  plummed  him  about  my 
landlord  on  February  4th?  Why,  it  is  not  a  quarter-day, 
the  ass.  Well,  he  will  come  at  six  o'clock,  and  at  that  hour 
the  neighbor  has  gone  to  dinner,  and  Mother  Bourgon  is 
washing  up  dishes  in  town,  so  there  will  be  no  one  in  the 
house.  The  neighbor  never  comes  in  before  eleven  o'clock. 
The  little  ones  will  be  on  the  watch,  you  will  help  us,  and  he 
will  execute  himself." 

"And  suppose  he  does  not?"  the  wife  asked.  Jondrette 
made  a  sinister  gesture,  and  said,  "  We  will  do  it  for  him." 

And  he  burst  into  a  laugh :  it  was  the  first  time  that  Marius 
saw  him  laugh,  and  this  laugh  was  cold  and  gentle,  and  pro- 
duced a  shudder.  Jondrette  opened  a  cupboard  near  the  fire- 
place, and  took  out  an  old  cap,  which  he  put  on  his  head,  after 
brushing  it  with  his  cuff. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  out,  for  I  have  some  more 
people  to  see,  good  men.  I  shall  be  away  as  short  a  time  as 
possible,  for  it  is  a  famous  affair  ;  and  do  you  keep  house." 

And  he  stood  thoughtfully  with  his  hands  in  his  trousers' 
pockets  and  suddenly  exclaimed, — 

"  Do  you  know  that  it  is  very  lucky  he  did  not  recognize  me, 
for  if  he  had  done  so  he  would  not  have  returned,  and  would 
have  slipped  from  us.  It  was  my  beard  that  saved  us,  my  ro- 
mantic beard,  my  pretty  little  beard." 

And  he  laughed  again.  He  went  to  the  window :  the  snow 
was  still  falling,  and  striping  the  gray  sky. 

"  What  filthy  weather !  "  he  said. 

Then  he  buttoned  up  his  great  coat. 

"  The  skin  is  too  big,  but  no  matter,"  he  added  ;  "  it  was 
devilish  lucky  that  the  old  villain  left  it  for  me,  for  had  he  not 
I  could  not  have  gone  out,  and  the  whole  affair  would  have  been 
spoiled.  On  what  slight  accidents  things  depend  !  " 

And,  pulling  his  cap  over  his  eyes,  he  went  out,  but  had  only 
gone  a  short  distance  when  the  door  opened  again,  and  his 
sharp,  intelligent  face  reappeared  in  the  aperture. 

"I  forgot,"  he  said,  "you  will  get  a  chafing-dish  of  charcoal 
ready." 

And  he  threw  into  his  wife's  apron  the  five-franc  piece  which 
the  "  philanthropist "  left  him. 


MARIUS.  179 

"  How  many  bushels  of  charcoal  ?  "  the  wife  asked. 

"  Two,  at  least." 

"  That  will  cost  thirty  sous,  and  with  the  rest  I  will  buy 
some  grub." 

"  Hang  it,  no." 

'•  Why  ?  " 

"  Don't  spend  the  five  balls" 

"  Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  have  something  to  buy,  too.'* 

"What?" 

"  Something." 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Where  is  the  nearest  ironmonger's  ?  " 

"  In  the  Rue  Mouifetard." 

"  Ah,  yes !  at  the  corner  of  a  street.  I  remember  the  shop." 

"  But  tell  me  how  much  you  want  for  what  you  have  to 
buy." 

"  From  fifty  sous  to  three  francs." 

"  There  won't  be  much  left  for  dinner." 

"  Don't  bother  about  eating  to-day ;  there  is  something  bet- 
ter to  do." 

"  That's  enough,  my  jewel." 

Jondrette  closed  the  door  again,  and  then  Marius  heard  his 
steps  as  he  went  along  the  passage  and  down  the  stairs.  It 
struck  one  at  this  moment  from  St.  Medard's. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT. 

MARIUS,  dreamer  though  he  was,  possessed,  as  we  have 
said,  a  firm  and  energetic  nature.  His  habits  of  solitary  con- 
templation, by  developing  compassion  and  sympathy  within 
him,  had  perhaps  diminished  the  power  of  being  irritated;  but 
left  intact  the  power  of  becoming  indignant :  he  had  the  benev- 
olence of  a  brahmin  and  the  sternness  of  a  judge,  and  while  he 
pitied  a  toad  he  crushed  a  viper.  At  present  he  had  a  nest  of 
vipers  before  him,  and  he  said,  "  I  must  set  my  foot  upon  these 
villains." 

Not  one  of  the  enigmas  which  he  hoped  to  see  cleared  up  was 
solved,  on  the  contrary,  they  had  become  rather  denser,  and 
he  had  learned  no  more  about  the  pretty  girl  of  the  Luxem- 


180  LES   MISERABLES. 

bourg  and  the  man  whom  he  called  M.  Leblanc,  save  that  Jon- 
drette  knew  them.  Through  the  dark  words  which  had  been 
uttered  he  only  saw  one  thing  distinctly,  that  a  snare  was  pre- 
paring, an  obscure  but  terrible  snare ;  that  they  both  ran  in 
imminent  danger,  she  probably,  and  the  father  certainly,  and 
that  he  must  save  them,  and  foil  the  hideous  combinations  of 
the  Jondrettes  by  destroying  their  spider's  web. 

He  watched  the  woman  for  a  moment ;  she  had  taken  an  old 
iron  furnace  from  the  corner,  and  was  rummaging  among  the 
tools. 

He  got  off  the  chest  of  drawers  as  gently  as  he  could,  and 
careful  not  to  make  any  noise. 

In  his  terror  of  what  was  preparing,  and  the  horror  with 
which  the  Jondrettes  filled  him,  he  felt  a  species  of  joy  at  the 
idea  that  it  might  perhaps  be  in  his  power  to  render  such  a  serv- 
ice to  her  whom  he  loved. 

But  what  was  he  to  do  ?  should  he  warn  the  menaced  per- 
sons ?  where  was  he  to  find  them  ?  for  he  did  not  know  their 
address.  They  had  reappeared  to  him  momentarily;  and  then 
plunged  again  into  the  immense  profundities  of  Paris.  Should 
he  wait  for  M.  Leblanc  at  the  gate  at  the  moment  when  he  ar- 
rived that  evening  and  warn  him  of  the  snare  ?  But  Jondrette 
and  his  comrades  would  see  him  on  the  watch.  The  place  was 
deserted,  they  would  be  stronger  than  he,  they  would  find 
means  to  get  him  out  of  the  way,  and  the  man  whom  Marius 
wished  to  save  would  be  lost.  It  had  just  struck  one,  and  as  the 
snare  was  laid  for  six  o'clock,  Marius  had  five  hours  before 
him. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done ;  he  put  on  his  best 
coat,  tied  a  handkerchief  round  his  neck,  took  his  hat,  and  went 
out,  making  no  more  noise  than  if  he  were  walking  barefoot  on 
moss :  besides,  the  woman  was  still  rummaging  the  old  iron. 

Once  outside  the  house,  he  turned  into  the  Rue  du  Petit 
Banquier. 

About  the  middle  of  the  street  he  found  himself  near  a  very 
low  wall,  which  it  was  possible  to  bestride  in  some  places,  and 
which  surrounded  unoccupied  ground.  He  was  walking  slowly, 
deep  in  thought  as  he  was,  and  the  snow  deadened  his  foot- 
steps, when  all  at  once  he  heard  voices  talking  close  to  him. 
He  turned  his  head,  but  the  street  was  deserted;  it  was  open 
day,  and  yet  he  distinctly  heard  the  voices. 

He  thought  of  looking  over  the  wall,  and  really  saw  two  men 
seated  in  the  snow,  and  conversing  in  a  low  voice.  They  were 


MARIUS.  l8t 

strangers  to  him  :  one  was  a  bearded  man  in  a  blouse,  and  the 
other  a  hairy  man  in  rags. 

The  bearded  man  wore  a  Greek  cap,  while  the  other  was 
bareheaded,  and  had  snow  in  his  hair. 

By  thrusting  out  his  head  over  them  Marius  could  hear  the 
hairy  man  say  to  the  other,  with  a  nudge 

"  With  Patron  Minette  it  cannot  fail." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  the  bearded  man,  and  the  hairy 
man  added, — 

"  It  will  be  five  hundred  balls  for  each,  and  the  worst  th:it 
can  happen  is  five  years,  six  years,  or  ten  at  the  most." 

The  other  replied  with  some  hesitation,  and  shuddering  un- 
der his  Greek  cap, — 

"  That  is  a  reality ;  and  people  must  not  go  to  meet  things  of 
that  sort." 

"  I  tell  you  that  the  affair  cannot  fail,"  the  hairy  man  con- 
tinued. "  Father  What's-his-name's  trap  will  be  all  ready." 

Then  they  began  talking  of  a  melo-drama  which  they  had 
seen  on  the  previous  evening  at  the  Gaite. 

Marius  walked  on  ;  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  obscure  re- 
marks of  these  men,  so  strangely  concealed  behind  this  wall, 
and  crouching  in  the  snow,  must  have  some  connection  with 
Joridrette's  abominable  scheme  ;  that  must  be  the  affair. 

He  went  toward  the  Faubourg  Saint  Marceau,  and  asked  at 
the  first  shop  he  came  to  where  he  could  find  a  police  com- 
missary. 

He  was  told  at  No.  14,  Rue  de  Pontoise,  and  he  proceeded 
there. 

As  he  passed  a  baker's  he  bought  a  two-sous  roll  and  ate  it, 
as  he  foresaw  that  he  should  not  dine. 

On  the  way  he  rendered  justice  to  Providence.  He  thought 
that  if  he  had  not  given  the  five  francs  in  the  morning  to  the 
girl  he  should  have  followed  M.  Leblanc's  hackney  coach,  and 
consequently  known  nothing.  There  would,  in  that  case,  have 
been  no  obstacle  to  Jondrette's  ambuscade,  and  M.  Leblanc 
would  have  been  lost  and  doubtless  his  daughter  with  him. 


182  LES   MISERABLES. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN    WHICH    A    POLICE  OFFICER    GIVES  A  LAWYER  TWO  FISTI- 
CUFFS. 

On  reaching  No.  14,  Rue  de  Pontoise,  he  went  up  to  the  first 
floor  and  asked  for  the  commissary. 

"  He  is  not  in  at  present,"  said  some  clerk,  "  but  there  is  an 
inspector  to  represent  him.  Will  you  speak  to  him  ?  is  your 
business  pressing  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Marius. 

The  clerk  led  him  to  the  commissary's  office.  A  very  tall 
man  was  leaning  here  against  the  fender  of  a  stove,  and  holding 
up  with  both  hands  the  skirts  of  a  mighty  coat  with  three  capes. 
He^had  a  square  face,  thin  and  firm  lips,  thick  grayish 
whiskers,  and  a  look  which  seemed  as  if  it  was  searching  your 
pockets.  Of  this  look  you  might  have  said,  not  that  it  pierced, 
but  that  it  felt. 

This  man  did  not  appear  much  less  ferocious  or  formidable 
than  Jondrette  ;  for  sometimes  it  is  just  as  dangerous  to  meet 
the  dog  as  the  wolf. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked  Marius,  without  adding 
sir. 

"  The  police  commissary." 

"  He  is  absent,  but  I  represent  him." 

"  It  is  a  very  secret  affair." 

"  Then  speak." 

"  And  very  urgent." 

"  In  that  case  speak  quick." 

This  man,  who  was  calm  and  quick,  was  at  once  terrifying 
and  reassuring.  He  inspired  both  fear  and  confidence. 
Marius  told  him  of  his  adventure — that  a  person  whom  he  only 
knew  by  sight  was  to  be  drawn  that  very  evening  into  :  trap — 
that  he,  Marius  Pontmercy,  barrister,  residing  in  the  next  room 
to  the  den,  had  heard  the  whole  plot  through  the  partition — . 
that  the  scoundrel's  name  who  invented  the  snare  was  Jon- 
drette — that  he  would  have  accomplices,  probably  prowlers  at 
the  barrie'res,  among  others  one  Panchaud,  alias  Printanier 
alias  Bigrenaille — that  Jondrette's  daughters  would  be  on  the 
watch — that  there  were  no  means  of  warning  the  threatened 


ATARI  US.  183 

man,  as  not  even  his  name  was  known — and  that,  lastly,  all 
this  would  come  off  at  six  in  the  evening,  at  the  most  deserted 
spot  on  the  Boulevard  de  1'Hopital,  in  the  house  No.  50-52. 

At  this  number  the  inspector  raised  his  head,  and  said 
coldly, — 

"  It  must  be  in  the  room  at  the  end  of  the  passage." 

"Exactly,"  Marius  replied,  and  added,  "do  you  know  the 
house  ?  " 

The  inspector  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  an- 
swered while  warming  his  boot-heel  at  the  door  of  the  stove, — 

"  Apparently  so." 

He  went  on  between  his  teeth,  talking  less  to  Marius  than 
his  cravat. 

"  Patron  Minette  must  be  mixed  up  in  this." 

This  remark  struck  Marius. 

"  Patron  Minette  !  "  he  said,  "yes,  I  heard  that  name  men- 
tioned. 

And  he  told  the  inspector  of  the  dialogue  between  the  hairy 
man  and  the  bearded  man  in  the  snow  behind  the  wall  in  the 
Rue  du  Petit  Banquier.  The  inspector  growled, — 

"  The  hairy  man  must  be  Burgon,  and  the  bearded  man 
Demiliard,  alias  Deux  Milliards." 

He  was  again  looking  down  and  meditating.  "  As  for  Father 
What's-his-name,  I  guess  who  he  is.  There,  I  have  burnt  my 
great  coat,  they  always  make  too  large  a  fire  in  these  cursed 
stoves.  No.  50-52,  formerly  the  property  of  one  Gorbeau." 

Then  he  looked  at  Marius. 

"  You  only  saw  the  hairy  man  and  the  bearded  man  ?  " 

"  And  Panchaud." 

"  You  did  not  see  a  small  dandy  prowling  about  there  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Nor  a  heavy  lump  of  a  fellow,  resembling  the  elephant  in 
the  Jardin  des  Plantes  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Nor  a  scamp,  who  looks  like  an  old  red-tail  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  As  for  the  fourth,  no  one  sees  him,  not  even  his  pals  and 
assistants.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  you  did  not  per- 
ceive him." 

"  No.     Who  are  all  these  men  ?  "  Marius  asked. 

The  inspector  continued,  "  Besides,  it  is  not  their  hour." 
He  fell  into  silence,  and  presently  added, — 

"  50-52.  I  know  the  tenement.  It  is  impossible  for  us  to 
hide  ourselves  in  the  interior  without  the  actors  perceiving  us, 


1 84  LES  MISERABLES. 

and  then  they  would  escape  by  putting  off  the  farce.  They 
are  so  modest,  and  frightened  at  an  audience.  That  won't  do, 
for  I  want  to  hear  them  sing  and  make  them  dance." 

This  soliloquy  ended,  he  turned  to  Marius,  and  asked,  as  he 
looked  at  him  searchingly, — 

"  Would  you  be  afraid  ?  " 

"Of  what?"  Marius  asked. 

"  Of  these  men." 

"  No  more  than  I  am  of  you,"  Marius  answered,  roughly, 
for  he  was  beginning  to  notice  that  this  policeman  had  not  yet 
said  «  Sir." 

The  inspector  looked  at  Marius  more  intently  still,  and  con- 
tinued with  a  sort  of  sententious  solemnity, — 

"  You  speak  like  a  brave  man  and  like  an  honest  man. 
Courage  does  not  fear  crime,  nor  honesty  the  authorities." 

Marius  interrupted  him, — 

"  That  is  all  very  well,  but  what  do  you  intend  doing  ?  " 

The  inspector  restricted  himself  to  saying, — 

"  The  lodgers  in  that  house  have  latch-keys  to  let  themselves 
in  at  night.  You  have  one  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Marius. 

"  Have  you  it  about  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  the  inspector  said. 

Marius  took  the  key  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket,  handed  it 
to  the  inspector,  and  added, — 

"  If  you  take  my  advice  you  will  bring  a  strong  force." 

The  inspector  gave  Marius  such  a  glance  as  Voltaire  would 
have  given  a  provincial  academician  who  proposed  a  rhyme  to 
him  ;  then  he  thrust  both  hands  into  his  immense  coat-pockets 
and  produced  two  small  steel  pistols,  of  the  sort  called  "  knock- 
me-downs."  He  handed  them  to  Marius,  saying  sharply  and 
quickly, — 

"  Take  these.  Go  home.  Conceal  yourself  in  your  room, 
and  let  them  suppose  you  out.  They  are  loaded  ;  both  with 
two  bullets.  You  will  watch,  as  you  tell  me  there  is  a  hole  in 
the  wall.  People  will  arrive  ;  let  them  go  on  a  little.  When 
you  fancy  the  matter  ripe,  and  you  think  it  time  to  stop  it,  you 
will  fire  a  pistol,  but  not  too  soon.  The  rest  concerns  me.  A 
shot  in  the  air,  in  the  ceiling,  I  don't  care  where, — but,  mind, 
not  too  soon.  Wait  till  they  begin  to  put  the  screw  on.  von 
are  a  lawyer,  and  know  what  that  means." 

Marius  took  the  pistols,  and  placed  them  in  a  side  pocket  of 
his  coat, 


MARIUS.  185 

"They  bulge  like  that,  and  attract  attention, "said  tlie  in- 
spector; "put  them  in  your  trousers'  pockets." 

Marius  did  so. 

u  And  now,"  the  inspector  continued,  "  there  is  not  a  mo- 
ment for  any  one  to  lose.  What  o'clock  is  it  ?  Half-past  two. 
You  said  seven  ?  " 

"  Six  o'clock,"  Marius  corrected. 

"  I  have  time,"  the  inspector  added ;  "  but  only  just 
time.  Do  not  forget  any  thing  I  have  said  to  you.  A  pistol- 
shot." 

"  All  right,"  Marius  replied. 

And  as  he  put  his  hand  on  the  latch  to  leave  the  room  the 
inspector  shouted  to  him, — 

"  By  the  way,  if  you  should  want  me  between  this  and  then, 
come  or  send  here.  Ask  for  Inspector  Javert." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

JONDRETTE    MAKES    HIS    PURCHASE. 

AT  about  three  o'clock  Courfeyrac  happened  to  pass  along 
the  Rue  Mouffetard,  accompanied  by  Bossuet.  The  snow  was 
thicker  than  ever,  and  filled  the  air,  and  Bossuet  had  just  said 
to  Courfeyrac, — 

"To  see  all  these  flakes  of  snow  fall,  we  might  say  that  the 
sky  is  suffering  from  a  plague  of  white  butterflies." 

All  at  once  Bossuet  noticed  Marius  coming  up  the  street  to- 
ward the  barriere  with  a  peculiar  look. 

"  Hilloh  !  "  said  Bossuet,  "  there's  Marius." 

"  I  saw  him,"  said  Courfeyrac  ;  "  but  we  won't  speak  to 
him." 

"Why  not?" 

"  He  is  busy." 

"  At  what  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  see  that  he  looks  as  if  he  were  following 
some  one  ?  " 

"That  is  true,"  said  Bossuet. 

"  Only  see  what  eyes  he  makes  !"  Courfeyrac  added. 

"  But  whom  the  deuce  is  he  following?" 

"  Some  Mimi-Goton  with  flowex-s  in  her  cap.  He  is  in 
love." 

"  But,"  Bossuet   observed,  "  I  do  not  see  any  Mimi  or  any 


1 86  LES   MISERABLES. 

Goton,  or  any  cap  trimmed  with  flowers  in  the  street.  There 
is  not  a  single  woman." 

Courfeyrac  looked,  and  exclaimed,  "He  is  following  a 
man." 

A  man,  wearing  a  cap,  and  whose  gray  beard  could  be  dis- 
tinguished, although  his  back  was  turned,  was  walking  about 
twenty  yards  ahead  of  Marius.  The  man  was  dressed  in  a 
perfectly  new  great-coat,  which  was  too  large  for  him,  and  a 
frightful  pair  of  ragged  trousers,  all  black  with  mud.  Bossuet 
burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Who  can  the  man  be?  " 

"  That  ?  "  Courfeyrac  replied,  "  oh,  he  is  a  poet.  Poets  are 
fond  of  wearing  the  trousers  of  rabbit-skin  buyers  and  the  coats 
of  the  peers  of  France." 

"  Let  us  see  where  Marius  is  going,"  said  Bossuet,  "  and 
where  this  man  is  going.  Suppose  we  follow  them,  eh  ?" 

"  Bossuet !  "  Courfeyrac  exclaimed,  "  Eagle  of  Meaux,  you 
area  prodigious  brute  to  think  of  following  a  man  who  is  fol- 
lowing a  man." 

They  turned  back.  Marius  had  really  seen  Jondrette  in  the 
Rue  Mouffetard,  and  was  following  him. 

Jondrette  was  walking  along,  not  at  all  suspecting  that  an 
eye  was  already  fixed  upon  him. 

He  left  the  Rue  Mouffetard,  and  Marius  saw  him  enter  one 
of  the  most  hideous  lodging-houses  in  Rue  Gracieuse,  where  lie 
remained  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then  returned  to 
the  Rue  Mouffetard.  He  stopped  at  an  ironmonger's  shop, 
which  was  at  that  period  at  the  corner  of  Rue  Pierre-Lom- 
bard ;  and  a  few  minutes  after  Marius  saw  him  come  out  of  the 
shop,  holding  a  large  cold  chisel  set  in  a  wooden  handle,  which 
he  hid  under  his  great-coat.  He  then  turned  to  his  left  and 
hurried  toward  the  Rue  due  Petit  Banquier.  Day  was  draw- 
ing in,  the  snow,  which  had  ceased  for  a  moment,  had  begun 
again,  and  Marius  concealed  himself  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
du  Petit  Banquier,  which  was  deserted  as  usual,  and  did  not 
follow  Jondrette.  It  was  lucky  that  he  acted  thus,  for  Jon- 
drette, on  reaching  the  spot  where  Marius  had  listened  to  the 
conversation  of  the  hairy  man  and  the  bearded  man,  looked 
round,  made  sure  that  he  was  not  followed,  clambered  over  the 
wall,  and  disappeared.  The  unused  ground  which  this  wall  en- 
closed communicated  with  the  back  yard  of  a  livery-stable- 
keeper  of  bad  repute,  who  had  been  a  bankrupt,  and  still  had 
a  few  vehicles  standing  under  sheds. 

Marius  thought  it  would  be  as  well  to  take  advantage  of  Jon- 


MARIUS.  187 

drette's  absence  and  return  home.  Besides,  time  was  slipping 
dway,  and  every  evening  Mame  Bougon,  when  she  went  to 
wash  up  dishes  in  town,  was  accustomed  to  close  the  gate,  and, 
as  Marius  had  given  his  latch-key  to  the  inspector,  it  was  im- 
portant that  he  should  be  in  time. 

Night  had  nearly  set  in  along  the  whole  horizon,  and  in  the 
whole  immensity  there  was  only  one  point  still  illumined  by  the 
sun,  and  that  was  the  moon,  which  was  rising  red  behind  the 
low  dome  of  the  Salpetriere. 

Marius  hurried  to  No.  50-52,  and  the  gate  was  still  open 
when  he  arrived.  He  went  up  the  stairs  on  tiptoe,  and 
glided  along  the  passage-wall  to  his  room.  This  passage,  it  will 
be  remembered,  was  bordered  on  either  side  by  rooms  which 
were  now  to  let  and  Mame  Bougon,  as  a  general  rule,  left  the 
doors  open.  While  passing  one  of  these  doors,  Marius  fancied 
that  he  could  see  in  the  uninhabited  room  four  men's  heads 
vaguely  lit  up  by  a  remnant  of  daylight,  which  fell  through  a 
window.  Marius  did  not  attempt  to  see,  as  he  did  not  wish  to 
be  seen  himself;  and  he  managed  to  re-enter  his  room  noise- 
lessly and  unseen.  It  was  high  time,  for,  a  moment  after,  he 
heard  Mame  Bougon  going  out,  and  the  house-gate  shutting. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN  WHICH  WILL  BE  FOUND  THE  SONG   TO   AN  ENGLISH  AIB  IN 
FASHION    IN    1832. 

Marius  sat  down  on  his  bed  :  it  might  be  about  half-past 
five,  and  only  half  an  hour  separated  him  from  what  was  about 
to  happen.  He  heard  his  arteries  beat  as  you  hear  the  ticking 
of  a  clock  in  the  darkness,  and  he  thought  of  the  double  march 
which  was  taking  place  at  this  moment  in  the  shadows, — crime 
advancing  on  one  side,  and  justice  coming  up  on  the  other.  He 
was  not  frightened,  but  he  could  not  think  without  a  certain 
tremor  of  the  things  that  were  going  to  happen,  like  all  those 
who  are  suddenly  assailed  by  a  surprising  adventure.  This 
whole  day  produced  on  him  the  effect  of  a  dream,  and  in  order 
not  to  believe  himself  the  prey  of  a  nightmare  he  was  obliged 
to  feel  in  his  pockets  the  cold  barrels  of  his  pistols.  It  no 
longer  snowed,  the  moon,  now  very  bright,  dissipated  the  mist, 


1 88  LES   MISERABLES. 

and  its  rays,  mingled  with  the  white  reflection  from  the  fallen 
snow,  imparted  a  twilight  appearance  to  the  room. 

There  was  a  light  in  Jondrette's  room,  and  Marius  could  see 
the  hole  in  the  partition  glowing  with  a  ruddy  brilliancy  that 
appeared  to  him  the  color  of  blood. 

It  was  evident  that  this  light  could  not  be  produced  by  a 
candle.  There  was  no  movement  in  the  den,  no  one  stirred 
there,  no  one  spoke,  there  was  not  a  breath,  the  silence  was 
chilling  and  profound,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  light, Marius 
might  have  fancied  himself  close  to  a  grave. 

He  gently  took  off  his  boots  and  thrust  them  under  the  bed. 

Several  minutes  elapsed,  and  then  Marius  heard  the  house- 
gate  creaking  on  its  hinges,  a  heavy  quick  step  ran  up  the 
stairs,  and  along  the  passage,  the  hasp  of  the  door  was  noisily 
raised, — it  was  Jondrette  returned  home. 

All  at  once  several  voices  were  raised,  and  it  was  plain  that 
the  whole  family  were  at  home.  They  were  merely  silent  in 
the  master's  absence,  like  the  whelps  in  the  absence  of  the 
wolves. 

"  It  is  I,"  he  said. 

"  Good  evening,  pappy,"  the  girls  yelped. 

"Well?"  the  wife  asked. 

"All  is  well,"  Jondrette  answered,  "but  I  am  cold  as  a 
starved  dog.  That's  right,  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  are 
dressed,  for  it  inspires  confidence." 

"  All  ready  to  go  out." 

"  You  will  not  forget  any  thing  that  I  told  you  ?  You  will  do 
it  all  right." 

"  Of  course." 

"  Because — "  Jondrette  began,  but  did  not  complete  the  sen- 
tence. 

Marius  heard  him  lay  something  heavy  on  the  table,  prob- 
ably the  chisel  which  he  had  bought. 

"  Well,"  Jondrette  continued,  "  have  you  been  eating 
here?" 

"  Yes," said  the  mother,"  I  bought  three  large  potatoes  and 
some  salt.  I  took  advantage  of  the  fire  to  roast  them." 

"  Good,"  Jondrette  remarked ;  '•  to-morrow  you  will  dine 
with  me  ;  we  will  have  a  duck  and  trimmings,  and  you  will  feed 
like  Charles  the  Tenths." 

Then  he  added,  lowering  his  voice, — 

«'  The  mousetrap  is  open,  and  the  cats  are  here.*' 

He  again  lowered  his  voice  and  said> — 

"  Put  this  in  the  fire." 


MARIUS.  189 

Marius  heard  some  charcoal  bars  stirred  with  a  pair  of  iron 
pincers,  or  some  steel  instrument,  and  Jondrette  ask, — 

"  Have  you  tallowed  the  hinges  of  the  door,  so  that  they 
may  make  no  noise?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  mother  answered. 

"  What  o'clock  is  it?" 

"  Close  on  six.     It  has  struck  the  half-hour  at  St.  Medard." 

"  Hang  it !"  said  Jondrette,  "  the  girls  must  go  on  the  watch. 
Come  here  and  listen  to  me." 

There  was  a  whispering,  and  then  Jondrette's  voice  was 
again  up  lifted. 

"  Has  Mame  Bougon  gone?" 

"  Yes,"  the  mother  answered. 

"  Are  you  sure  there  is  nobody  in  the  neighbor's  room?" 

"  He  has  not  come  in  all  day,  and  you  know  that  this  is  his 
dinner  hour." 

"  Are  you  sure?  " 

"  Quite." 

"  No  matter,"  Jondrette  added,  "  there  is  no  harm  in  going 
to  see  whether  he  is  in.  Daughter,  take  the  candle  and  go." 

Marius  fell  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and  silently  crawled 
under  the  bed ;  he  had  scarce  done  so  ere  he  saw  light  through 
the  cracks  of  his  door. 

"  Papa,"  a  voice  exclaimed,  "  he  is  out." 
,    He  recognized  the  elder  girl's  voice. 

"  Have  you  been  in  his  room  ?  "  the  father  asked. 

"  No,"  the  girl  replied,  "  but  as  his  key  is  in  his  door  he  has 
gone  out." 

The  father  shouted, — 

"  Go  in  all  the  same." 

The  door  opened,  and  Marius  saw  the  girl  come  in,  candle 
in  hand.  She  was  the  same  as  in  the  morning,  save  that  she 
was  even  more  fearful  in  this  light.  She  walked  straight  up  to 
the  .bed,  and  Marius  suffered  a  moment  of  intense  anxiety,  but 
there  was  a  looking-glass  hanging  from  a  nail  by  the  bedside, 
and  it  was  to  that  she  proceeded.  She  stood  on  tiptoe  and 
looked  at  herself;  a  noise  of  iron  being  moved  could  be  heard 
in  the  other  room.  She  smoothed  her  hair  with  her  hand,  and 
smiled  in  the  glass,  while  singing,  in  her  cracked  and  sepul-' 
chral  voice, — 

"  Nos  amours  ont  dur^  tonte  une  semaine, 
Mais  que  du  bonheur  les  instants  sont  courts, 
S'adorer  hnit  jours  c'eiait  bien  la  peine  ! 
Le  temps  des  amours  devrait  durer  toujours  ! 
Devrait  durer  toujours  !  devrait  durer  toujours." 


190  LES   MISERABLES. 

Still  Marius  trembled,  for  he  thought  that  she  could  not  help 
hearing  his  breathing.  .She  walked  to  the  window  and  looked 
out,  while  saying  aloud  with  the  half  insane  look  she  had, — 

"  How  ugly  Paris  is  when  it  has  put  on  a  white  sheet !  " 

She  returned  to  the  glass,  and  began  taking  a  fresh  look  at 
herself,  first  full  face  and  then  three-quarters. 

"  Well?  "  asked  the  father,  "what  are  you  doing  there?" 

"  I  am  looking  under  the  bed  and  the  furniture,"  she  said,  as 
she  continued  to  smoothe  her  hair;  "but  there  is  nobody." 

"  You  she-devil,"  the  father  yelled.  "  Come  here  directly, 
and  lose  no  time." 

"  Coming,  coming,"  she  said,  "  there's  no  time  to  do  any- 
thing here." 

Then  she  hummed, — 

"  Vous  me  quittez  pour  aller  a  la  gloire, 
Mon  triste  coeur  suivra  partout  vos  pas." 

She  took  a  parting  glance  at  the  glass  and  went  off,  closing 
the  door  after  her.  A  moment  later  Marius  heard  the  sound 
of  the  girls'  naked  feet  pattering  along  the  passage,  and  Jon- 
drette's  voice  shouting  to  them, — 

"  Pay  attention  !  one  at  the  barriere  and  the  other  at  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  du  Petit  Banquier.  Do  not  lose  the  gate 
of  this  house  out  of  sight,  and  if  you  see  any  thing  come  back 
at  once — at  once — you  have  a  key  to  let  yourselves  in." 

The  elder  daughter  grumbled, — 

"  To  stand  sentry  barefooted  in  the  snow,  what  a  treat !  " 

"  To-morrow  you  shall  have  beetle-colored  silk  boots,"  the 
father  said. 

They  went  down  the  stairs,  and  a  few  seconds  later  the 
sound  of  the  gate  closing  below  announced  that  they  had 
reached  the  street.  The  only  persons  in  the  house  now  wore 
Marius,  the  Jondrettes,  and  probably,  too,  the  mysterious  beings 
of  whom  Marius  had  caught  a  glimpse  in  the  gloom  behind  the 
door  of  the  unoccupied  room. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    USE    OF    MARIUS'    FIVE    FRANC    PIECE. 

MAHIUS  judged  that  the  moment  had  arrived  for  him  to  re- 
turn to  his  observatory.     In  a  second,  and  with  the  agility  of 


MARIUS.  I^l 

his  age,  lie  was  at  the  hole  in  the  partition,  and  peeped  through. 

The  interior  of  Jondrette's  lodging  offered  a  strange  appear- 
ance,  and  Marius  was  able  to  account  for  the  peculiar  light  he 
had  noticed.  A  candle  was  burning  in  a  verdigrised  candle- 
stick, but  it  was  not  this  which  really  illumined  the  room;  the 
whole  den  was  lit  up  with  the  ruddy  glow  of  a  brasier  standing 
in  the  fire-place,  and  filled  with  incandescent  charcoal — it  was 
the  chafing-dish,  which  the  wife  had  prepared  in  the  morning. 
The  burner  was  red,  a  bluish  flame  played  round  it,  and  ren- 
dered it  easy  to  recognize  the  shape  of  the  chisel  purchased  by 
Jondrette,  which  was  heating  in  the  charcoal.  In  a  corner, 
near  the  door,  could  be  seen  two  heaps,  one  apparently  of  old 
iron,  the  other  of  ropes,  arranged  for  some  anticipated  pur- 
pose. All  this,  to  a  person  who  did  not  know  what  was  going 
to  occur,  would  have  made  his  mind  vacillate  between  a  very 
simple  and  a  very  sinister  idea.  The  room,  thus  lit  up,  resem- 
bled a  forge  more  than  a  mouth  of  Hades,  but  Jondrette,  in 
this  light,  was  more  like  a  demon  than  a  blacksmith. 

The  heat  of  the  chafing-pan  was  so  great  that  the  candle  on 
the  table  was  melted  and  guttering  on  the  side  turned  toward 
it.  An  old  copper  dark-lantern,  worthy  of  a  Diogenes  who 
had  turned  Cartouche,  was  standing  on  the  mantel-piece. 

The  chafing-dish,  which  stood  in  the  fire-place,  close  to  the 
decaying  logs,  sent  its  smoke  up  the  chimney,  and  thus  pro- 
duced no  smell. 

The  moon,  which  found  its  way  through  the  skylight,  poured 
its  whiteness  on  the  purple  and  flashing  garret,  and  to  the 
poetic  mind  of  Marius,  who  was  a  dreamer  even  in  the  mo- 
ment of  action,  it  was  like  a  thought  of  heaven  mingled  with 
the  shapeless  dreams  of  earth. 

A  breath  of  air  that  penetrated  through  the  broken  pane 
also  helped  to  dissipate  the  smell  of  charcoal  and  conceal  the 
chafing-pan. 

Jondrette's  den,  if  our  readers  remember  what  we  have  said 
about  the  house,  was  admirably  selected  to  serve  as  the  scene 
of  a  violent  and  dark  deed,  and  as  a  covert  for  crime.  It  was 
the  furthest  room  in  the  most  isolated  house  on  the  most  de- 
serted Parisian  boulevard  ;  and  if  a  snare  were  not  there  al- 
ready it  would  have  been  invented  there. 

The  whole  length  of  a  house  and  a  number  of  uninhabited 
rooms  separated  this  lair  from  the  boulevard,  and  the  only 
window  in  it  looked  out  on  fields  enclosed  by  walls  and  board- 
ings. 


1 92  LES   MISERABLES. 

Jondrette  had  lit  his  pipe,  was  seated  on  the  bottomless  chair 
smoking,  and  his  wife  was  speaking  to  him  in  a  low  voice. 

If  Marius  had  been  Courfeyrac,  that  is  to  say,  one  of  those 
men  who  laugh  at  every  opportunity,  he  would  have  burst  into 
a  roar  when  his  eye  fell  on  Mother  Jondrette.  She  had  on  a 
bonnet  with  black  feathers,  like  the  hats  worn  by  the  heralds 
at  the  coronation  of  Charles  X.,  an  immense  tartan  shawl  over 
her  cotton  shirt,  and  the  man's  slices  which  her  daughter  had 
disdained  in  the  morning.  It  was  this  attire  which  drew  from 
Jondrette  the  exclamation,  "  That's  right,  I  am  glad  to  see 
that  you  are  dressed,  for  it  inspires  confidence." 

As  for  Jondrette,  he  had  not  taken  off  the  new  coat  which 
M.  Leblanc  had  given  him,  and  his  dress  continued  to  offer  that 
contrast  between  trousers  and  coat  which  constituted  in  Cour- 
feyrac's  sight  the  ideal  of  the  poet. 

All  at  once  Jondrette  raise  his  voice. 

"  By  the  way,  in  such  weather  as  this  he  will  come  in  a 
hackney  coach.  Light  your  lamp  and  go  down,  and  keep  be- 
hind the  front  gate  ;  when  you  hear  the  vehicle  stop  you  will 
open  the  gate  at  once,  light  him  up-stairs,  and  along  the  pas- 
sage, and  when  he  has  come  in  here  you  will  go  down  as 
quickly  as  you  can,  pay  the  coachman,  and  discharge  him." 

"  Where's  the  money  to  come  from  ?  "  the  woman  asked. 

Jondrette  felt  in  his  pocket,  and  gave  her  five  francs. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  The  monarch  which  our  neighbor  gave  us  this  morning," 
and  he  added,  "  we  shall  want  two  chairs,  though." 

«  What  for  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  sit  down." 

Marius  shuddered  on  hearing  the  woman  make  the  quiet 
answer, — 

"  Well,  I  will  go  and  fetch  our  neighbor's." 

And  with  a  rapid  movement  she  opened  the  door  and 
stepped  into  the  passage.  Marius  had  not  really  the  time  to 
get  off  the  drawers  and  hide  under  his  bed. 

"  Take  the  candle,"  Jondrette  shouted. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  it  would  bother  me,  for  I  have  two  chairs 
to  carry.  Besides,  the  moon  is  shining." 

Marius  heard  the  heavy  hand  of  Mother  Jondrette  fumbling 
for  his  key  in  the  darkness.  The  door  opened,  and  he  re- 
mained nailed  to  his  post  by  alarm  and  stupor. 

The  woman  came  in  ;  the  skylight  sent  a  moonbeam  be- 
tween two  large  patches  of  shade,  and  one  of  these  patches 


MARIUS.  193 

entirely  covered  the  wall  against  which  Marius  was  standing, 
so  that  he  disappeared. 

Mother  Jondrette  did  not  see  Marius,  took  the  two  chairs, 
the  only  two  that  Marius  possessed,  and  went  off,  noisily  slam- 
ming the  door  after  her.  She  re-entered  the  den. 

"  Here  are  the  two  chairs." 

'*  And  here  is  the  lantern,"  the  husband  said,  "  make  haste 
down." 

He  placed  the  chairs  on  either  side  of  the  table,  turned  the 
chisel  in  the  chafing-dish,  placed  in  front  of  the  fire-place  an 
old  screen,  which  concealed  the  charcoal-pan,  and  then  went 
to  the  corner  where  the  heap  of  rope  lay,  and  stooped  down 
as  if  examining  something.  Marius  then  perceived  that  what 
he  had  taken  for  a  shapeless  heap  was  a  rope  ladder,  very 
well  made  with  wooden  rungs,  and  two  hooks  to  hang  it  by. 

This  ladder  and  a  few  large  tools,  perfect  crowbars,  which 
were  mingled  with  the  heap  of  old  iron  in  the  corner,  had  not 
been  there  in  the  morning,  and  had  evidently  been  brought  in 
the  afternoon,  during  the  absence  of  Marius. 

"They  are  locksmith's  tools,"  Marius  thought. 

Had  he  been  a  little  better  acquainted  with  the  trade  he 
would  have  recognized,  in  what  he  took  for  tools,  certain  in- 
struments that  could  force  or  pick  a  lock,  and  others  that  could 
cut  or  pierce,  the  two  families  of  sinister  tools  which  burglars 
call  "cadets"  and  "fauchants."  The  table  and  the  two 
chairs  were  exactly  opposite  Marius,  and,  as  the  charcoal-pan 
was  concealed,  the  room  was  only  illumined  by  the  candle,  and  the 
smallest  article  on  the  table  or  the  chimney-piece  cast  a  long 
shadow  ;  a  cracked  water-jug  hid  half  a  wall.  There  was  in 
this  room  a  hideous  and  menacing  calm,  and  an  expectation  of 
something  awful  could  be  felt. 

Jondrette  had  let  his  pipe  go  out,  a  sign  of  deep  thought, 
and  had  just  sat  down  again.  The  candle  caused  the  stern 
and  fierce  angles  of  his  face  to  stand  out ;  he  was  frowning, 
and  suddenly  thrust  out  his  right  hand  now  and  then,  as  if 
answering  the  final  counsels  of  a  dark  internal  soliloquy.  In 
one  of  the  obscure  replies  he  made  to  himself  he  opened  the 
table  drawer,  took  out  a  long  carving-knife  hidden  in  it,  and 
felt  its  edge  on  his  thumb  nail.  This  done,  he  put  the  knife  in 
the  drawer,  which  he  closed  again. 

Marius,  on  his  side,  drew  the  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and 
cocked  it,  which  produced  a  sharp,  clicking  sound. 

Jondrette  started,  and  half  rose  from  his  chair. 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  he  shouted. 


194  LES   MISERABLES. 

Marius  held   his  breath.     Jondrette  listened  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said,  laughingly, — 

"What  an  ass  I  am  !  it  is  the  partition  creaking." 
Marius  held  the  pistol  in  his  hand. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    TWO    CHAIRS. 

AT  this  moment  the  distant  and  melancholy  vibration  of  a 
bell  shook  the  windows  ;  six  o'clock  was  striking  at  St.  Me- 
dard's. 

Jondrette  marked  each  stroke  by  a  shake  of  the  head,  and 
when  he  had  counted  the  last  he  snuffed  the  candle  with  his 
fingers. 

Then  he  began  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  listened  at 
the  door,  began  walking  again,  and  then  listened  once  more. 
"  I  only  hope  he'll  come,"  he  growled,  and  then  returned  to 
his  chair. 

He  was  hardly  seated  ere  the  door  opened. 

Mother  Jondrette  had  opened  it,  and  remained  in  the  pas- 
sage making  a  horrible  grimace,  which  one  of  the  holes  in  the 
dark  lantern  lit  up  from  below. 

"  Step  in,  sir,"  she  said. 

"  Enter,  my  benefactor ! "  Jondrette  repeated,  as  he  hur- 
riedly rose. 

M.  Leblanc  appeared  with  that  air  of  serenity  which  ren- 
dered him  singularly  venerable,  and  laid  four  louis  on  the 
table. 

"  Monsieur  Fabantou,  here  is  the  money  for  your  rent,  and 
something  more  to  put  you  a  little  straight.  After  that  we 
will  see." 

"  May  Heaven  repay  you !  my  generous  benefactor,"  said 
Jondrette  and  then  rapidly  approached  his  wife. 

"  Dismiss  the  hackney  coach." 

She  slipped  away,  while  her  husband  made  an  infinitude  of 
bows,  and  offered  a  chair  to  M.  Leblanc.  A  moment  after  she 
returned  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  All  right ! " 

The  snow,  which  had  not  ceased  to  fall  since  morning,  was 
now  so  thick  that  neither  the  arrival  nor  the  departure  of  the 
coach  had  been  heard.  M.  Leblanc  had  seated  himself,  and 
Jondrette  now  took  possession  of  the  chair  opposite  to  him. 


MARIUS.  19$ 

And  now  the  reader,  in  order  to  form  an  idea  of  the  scene 
which  is  about  to  be  acted,  will  kindly  imagine  the  freezing 
night,  the  solitudes  of  the  Salpetrie're  covered  with  snow,  and 
white  in  the  moonlight,  like  an  immense  winding-sheet,  and 
the  light  of  the  lamps  throwing  a  red  glow  here  and  there 
over  these  tragic  boulevards,  and  the  long  rows  of  black  elms : 
not  a  passer-by  for  a  quarter  of  a  league  round,  andtheMaison 
Gorbeau  at  its  highest  point  of  solemn  horror  and  night.  In 
this  house,  amid  this  solitude  and  darkness,  is  Jondrette's  spa- 
cious garret  lit  by  a  candle,  and  in  this  den  two  men  are  sitting 
at  a  table, — M.  Leblanc  calm,  Jondrette  smiling  and  terrible. 
Mother  Jondrette,  the  she-wolf,  is  in  a  corner,  and  behind  the 
partition,  Marius,  invisible,  but  not  losing  a  word  or  a  move- 
ment, with  his  eye  on  the  watch,  and  pistols  in  hand. 

Marius,  however,  only  felt  an  emotion  of  horror,  but  no 
fear :  he  clutched  the  butt  of  the  pistol,  and  said  to  himself, 
feeling  reassured,  "  I  can  stop  the  scoundrel  whenever  I  like." 

He  felt  that  the  police  were  somewhere  in  ambush,  waiting 
for  the  appointed  signal,  and  all  ready  to  extend  their  arms. 

In  addition,  he  hoped  that  from  this  violent  encounter  be- 
tween Jondrette  and  M.  Leblanc  some  light  would  be  thrown 
on  all  that  he  had  an  interest  in  knowing. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A    PROPOSITION. 

M.  LEBLANC  was  scarce  seated  ere  he  turned  his  eyes  to  the 
beds  which  were  empty. 

"  How  is  the  poor  little  wounded  girl?"  he  asked. 

"  Very  bad,"  Jondrette  replied  with  a  heart-broken  and 
grateful  smile.  "  Very  bad,  my  good  sir.  Her  elder  sister 
has  taken  her  to  La  Bourbe  to  have  her  hand  dressed.  But 
you  will  see  them,  as  they  will  return  almost  immediately." 

"  Madame  Fabantou  seems  to  me  better?  "  M.  Leblanc  con. 
tinued,  taking  a  glance  at  the  strange  garb  of  Mother  Jon. 
drette,  who  standing  between  him  and  the  door,  as  if  already 
guarding  the  outlet,  was  looking  at  him  in  a  menacing  and  al- 
most combative  posture. 

"  She  is  dying,"  Jondrette  said,  "  but  what  would  you  have, 
sir?  that  female  has  so  much  courage.  She  is  not  a  female  but 
an  ox," 


lo6  LES   MISERABLES. 

Mother  Jondrette,  affected  by  the  compliment,  protested  with 
the  affection  of  a  flattered  monster, — 

"  You  are  always  too  kind  to  me,  Monsieur  Jondrette." 

"Jondrette  ?  "  said  M,  Leblanc,  "  why,  I  thought  your  name 
was  Fabantou  " 

"Fabantou,  alias  Jondrette,"  the  husband  quickly  replied, 
'•  a  professional  name." 

And,  giving  his  wife  a  shrug,  which  M.  Leblanc  did  not  see, 
he  continued  with  an  emphatic  and  caressing  inflection  of 
voice, — 

"Ah  !  that  poor  dear  and  I  have  ever  lived  happily  together, 
for  what  would  be  left  us  if  we  had  not  that !  we  are  so 
wretched,  respectable  sir.  I  have  arms  but  no  labor,  a  heart 
but  no  work.  I  do  not  know  how  the  government  manage  it, 
but,  on  my  word  of  honor,  sir,  I  am  no  Jacobin,  I  wish  them 
no  harm,  but  if  I  were  the  ministers,  on  my  most  sacred  word, 
things  would  go  differently.  For  instance,  I  wished  my  daugh- 
ters  to  learn  the  trade  of  making  paper  boxes.  You  will  say 
to  me,  '  What !  a  trade  ? '  Yes,  a  trade,  a  simple  trade,  a 
bread-winner.  What  a  fall,  my  benefactor !  what  degradation, 
after  persons  have  been  in  such  circumstances  as  we  were,  but, 
alas !  nothing  is  left  us  from  our  prosperous  days.  Nothing 
but  one  article — a  picture,  to  which  I  cling,  but  which  I  am 
ready  to  part  with,  as  we  must  live." 

While  Jondrette  was  saying  this  with  a  sort  of  apparent  dis- 
order, which  did  not  in  any  way  alter  the  thoughtful  and  saga- 
cious expression  of  his  face,  Marius  raised  his  eyes  and  saw 
some  one  at  the  back  of  the  room,  whom  he  had  not  seen  be- 
fore. A  man  had  just  entered,  but  so  softly  that  the  hinges 
had  not  been  heard  to  creak.  This  man  had  on  an  old  worn- 
out,  torn,  violet,  knitted  jacket,  wide  cotton  velvet  trousers, 
thick  socks  on  his  feet,  and  no  shirt ;  his  neck  was  bare,  his 
arms  were  naked  and  tattooed,  and  his  face  was  daubed  with 
black.  He  seated  himself  silently,  and  with  folded  arms,  on 
the  nearest  bed,  and,  as  he  was  behind  Mother  Jondrette,  he 
could  be  but  dimly  distinguished. 

That  sort  of  magnetic  instinct  which  warns  the  eye  caused 
M.  Leblanc  to  turn  almost  at  the  same  moment  as  Marius.  He 
could  not  suppress  a  start  of  surprise,  which  Jondrette  noticed. 
"  Ah,  I  see,"  Jondrette  exclaimed,  as  he  buttoned  his  coat 
complacently,  "you  are  looking  at  your  surtout?  It  fits  me, 
really  fits  me  capitally." 

"  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  M,  Leblanc  asked,. 


MARIUS.  197 

"That?"  said  Jondrette,  "oh,  a  neighbor;  pay  no  atten- 
tion to  him." 

The  neighbor  looked  singular,  but  chemical  factories  abound 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Marceau,  and  a  workman  may  easily  have 
a  black  face.  M.  Leblanc's  whole  person  displayed  a  confident 
and  intrepid  candor,  as  he  continued, — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  what  were  you  saying,  M.  Faban- 
tou  ?  " 

"I  was  saying,  sir,  and  dear  protector,"  Jondrette  replied, 
as  he  placed  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  gazed  at  M.  Leblanc 
with  fixed  and  tender  eyes,  very  like  those  of  a  boa-constrictor, 
"  I  was  saying  that  I  had  a  picture  to  sell." 

There  was  a  slight  noise  at  the  door ;  a  second  man  came  in 
and  seated  himself  on  the  bed  behind  Mother  Jondrette.  Like 
the  first,  he  had  bare  arms  and  a  mask,  either  of  ink  or  soot. 

Though  this  man  literally  glided  into  the  room  he  could  not 
prevent  M.  Leblanc  noticing  him. 

"  Take  no  heed,"  said  Jondrette,  "  they  are  men  living  in 
the  house,  I  was  saying  that  I  had  a  valuable  picture  left ; 
look  here,  sir." 

He  rose,  walked  to  the  wall,  against  which  the  panel  to 
which  we  have  already  referred  was  leaning,  and  turned  it 
round,  while  still  letting  it  rest  on  the  wall.  It  was  something, 
in  fact,  that  resembled  a  picture,  and  which  the  candle  almost 
illumined.  Marius  could  distinguish  nothing,  as  Jondrette  was 
standing  between  him  and  the  picture,  but  he  fancied  he  could 
catch  a  glimpse  of  a  coarse  daub,  and  a  sort  of  principal  char- 
acter standing  out  of  the  canvas,  with  the  bold  crudity  of  a 
showman's  pictures. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  M.  Leblanc  asked. 

Jondrette  exclaimed, — 

"  A  masterpiece,  a  most  valuable  picture,  my  benefactor  !  I 
am  as  attached  to  it  as  I  am  to  my  daughters,  for  it  recalls 
dear  memories;  but,  as  I  told  you,  and  I  will  not  go  back  from 
my  word,  I  am  willing  to  dispose  of  it,  as  we  are  in  such  pov- 
erty." 

Either  by  accident,  or  some  vague  feeling  of  anxiety,  M. 
Leblanc's  eye,  while  examining  the  picture,  returned  to  the  end 
of  the  room.  There  were  now  four  men  there,  three  seated  on 
the  bed  and  one  leaning  against  the  door-post,  but  all  four  bare- 
armed,  motionless,  and  with  blackened  faces.  One  of  those  on 
the  bed  was  leaning  against  the  wall  with  closed  eyes  and  ap- 
parently asleep  ;  this  one  was  old,  and  the  white  hair  on  the 
blackened  face  was  horrible.  The  other  two  were  young,  one 


198  LES  MISERABLES. 

was  hairy,  the  other  bearded.  Not  a  single  one  had  shoes,  and 
those  who  did  not  wear  socks  were  barefooted.  Jondrette  re- 
marked that  M.  Leblanc's  eyes  rested  on  these  men. 

"  They  are  friends,  neighbors,"  he  said,  "  their  faces  are 
black  because  they  are  chimney-sweeps.  Do  not  trouble  your- 
self about  them,  sir,  but  buy  my  picture.  Have  pity  on  my 
misery.  I  will  not  ask  much  for  it ;  what  value  do  you  set 
upon  it  ?  " 

"  Well,"  M.  Leblanc  said,  looking  Jondrette  full  in  the  face, 
like  a  man  setting  himself  on  guard,  "it  is  some  pot-house 
sign,  and  worth  about  three  francs." 

Jondrette  replied  gently, — 

"  Have  you  your  pocket-book  about  you  ?  I  shall  be  satisfied 
with  a  thousand  crowns." 

M.  Leblanc  rose,  set  his  back  against  the  wall,  and  took  a 
hurried  glance  round  the  room.  He  had  Jondrette  on  his  left 
by  the  window,  and  on  his  right  the  woman  and  the  four  men 
by  the  door.  The  four  men  did  not  stir,  and  did  not  even  ap- 
pear to  see  him.  Jondrette  had  begun  talking  again  with  a 
plaintive  accent,  and  with  such  a  wandering  eye  that  M.  Le- 
blanc might  fairly  believe  that  he  simply  had  before  him  a  man 
driven  mad  by  misery. 

"  If  you  do  not  buy  my  picture,  dear  benefactor,"  Jondrette 
said,  "  I  have  no  resource  remaining,  and  nothing  is  left  me 
but  to  throw  myself  into  the  river.  When  I  think  that  I  wished 
my  two  daughters  to  learn  how  to  make  paper  boxes  for  new- 
year's  gifts.  Well,  for  that  you  require  a  table  with  a  back- 
board to  prevent  the  glasses  falling  on  the  ground,  a  stove  made 
expressly,  a  pot  with  three  compartments  for  the  three  differ- 
ent degrees  of  strength  which  the  glue  must  have,  according  as 
it  is  used  for  wood,  paper,  and  cloth;  a  board  to  cut  paste- 
board on,  a  hammer,  a  pair  of  pincers,  and  the  deuce  knows 
what,  and  all  that  to  gain  four  sous  a  day !  and  you  must  work 
fourteen  hours  !  and  each  box  passes  thirteen  times  through  the 
hands  of  the  work  girl!  and- moistening  the  paper !  and  not 
spoiling  any  thing !  and  keeping  the  glue  hot !  the  devil !  I  tell 
you,  four  sous  a  day  !  How  do  you  expect  them  to  live  ?  " 

While  speaking,  Jondrette  did  not  look  at  M.  Leblanc,  who 
was  watching  him.  M.  Leblanc's  eye  was  fixed  on  Jondrette, 
and  Jondrette's  on  the  door,  while  Marius'  gasping  attention 
went  from  one  to  the  other.  M.  Leblanc  seemed  to  be  asking 
himself,  Is  he  a  lunatic?  and  Jondrette  repeated  twice  or  thrice 
with  all  sorts  of  varied  inflections  in  the  suppliant  style,  "All 
that  is  left  me  is  to  throw  myself  into  the  river  '  the  other  day 


MARIUS.  199 

I  went  for  that  purpose  down  three  steps  by  the  side  of  the 
bridge  of  Austerlitz." 

All  at  once  his  eyes  glistened  with  a  hideous  radiance,  the 
little  man  drew  himself  up  and  became  frightful,  he  walked  a 
step  toward  M.  Leblanc,  and  shouted,  in  a  thundering  voice, — 

"  That  is  not  the  point !     Do  you  recognize  me  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

CAUGHT  IN  A  TRAP. 

THE  attic  door  was  torn  open,  and  three  men  in  blue  cloth 
blouses  and  wearing  masks  of  black  paper  came  in.  The  first 
was  thin,  and  carried  an  iron-shod  cudgel ;  the  second,  who  was 
a  species  of  Colossus,  held  a  pole-axe  by  the  middle,  while  the 
third,  a  broad-shouldered  fellow,  not  so  thin  as  the  first,  but  not 
stout  as  the  second  was  armed  with  an  enormous  key  stolen 
from  some  prison-gate. 

It  seemed  as  if  Jondrette  had  been  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
these  men,  and  a  hurried  conversation  took  place  between  him 
and  the  man  with  the  cudgel. 

"  Is  all  ready  ?  "  asked  Jondrette 

"  Yes,"  the  thin  man  replied. 

"  Where  is  Montparnasse  ?  " 

"  He's  stopped  to  talk  to  your  eldest  daughter." 

"  Is  the  trap  ready  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  With  two  good  horses  ?  " 

"  Excellent." 

"  Is  it  waiting  where  I  ordered?  w 

"  Yes." 

"  All  right,"  said  Jondrette. 

M.  Leblanc  was  very  pale.  He  looked  all  round  the  room 
like  a  man  who  understands  into  what  asnare  he  has  fallen,  and 
his  head,  turned  toward  all  the  heads  that  surrounded  him, 
moved  on  his  neck  with  an  attentive  and  surprised  slowness, 
but  there  was  nothing  in  his  appearance  that  resembled  fear. 
He  had  formed  an  improvised  bulwark  of  the  table,  and  this 
man,  who  a  moment  before  merely  looked  like  an  old  man,  had 
suddenly  become  an  athlete,  and  laid  his  robust  fist  on  the  back 
of  this  chair  with  ;i  formidable  and  surprising  gesture. 

This  old  man,  so  firm  and  brave  in  the  Dresence  of  such  a 


20O  LES   MISERABLES. 

danger,  seemed  to  possess  one  of  those  natures  which  are  coura- 
geous in  the  same  way  as  they  are  good — easily  and  simply. 
The  father  of  a  woman  we  love  is  never  a  stranger  to  us,  and 
Marius  felt  proud  of  this  unknown  man. 

Three  of  the  men  whom  Jondrette  called  chimney-sweeps  had 
taken  from  the  mass  of  iron,  one  a  large  chisel,  another  a  pair 
of  heavy  pincers,  and  the  third  a  hammer,  and  posted  them- 
selves in  front  of  the  door,  without  saying  a  word.  The  old 
man  remained  on  the  bed,  merely  opening  his  eyes,  and  Mother 
Jondrette  was  sitting  by  his  side. 

Marius  thought  that  the  moment  for  interference  was  at 
hand,  and  raised  his  right  hand  to  the  ceiling  in  the  direction 
of  the  passage,  ready  to  fire  his  pistol. 

Jondrette,  after  finishing  his  colloquy,  with  the  three  men, 
turned  again  to  M.  Leblanc,  and  repeated  the  question,  with 
that  low,  restrained,  and  terrible  laugh  of  his, — 

"  Do  you  not  recognize  me  ?  " 

M.  Leblanc  looked  him  in  the  face  and  answered,  "  No  ! " 

Jondrette  then  went  up  to  the  table,  he  bent  over  the  candle 
with  folded  arms,  and  placed  his  angular  and  ferocious  face  as 
close  as  he  could  to  M.  Leblanc's  placid  face,  and  in  this  post- 
ure of  a  wild  beast  which  is  going  to  bite,  he  exclaimed, — 

"  My  name  is  not  Fabantou  or  Jondrette,  but  my  name  is 
Thenadier,  the  landlord  of  the  inn  at  Montfermeil !  Do  you 
hear  me  ?  Thenardier.  Now  do  you  recognize  me  ?  " 

An  almost  imperceptible  flush  shot  athwart  M.  Leblanc's 
forehead,  and  he  answered,  with  his  ordinary  placidity,  and 
without  the  slightest  tremor  in  his  voice, — 

"  No  more  than  before." 

Marius  did  not  hear  this  answer,  and  any  one  who  had  seen 
him  at  this  moment  in  the  darkness  would  have  found  him  hag- 
gard, stunned,  and  crushed.  At  the  moment  when  Jondrette 
said,  My  name  is  Thenardier,  Marius  trembled  in  all  his  limbs, 
and  he  leant  against  the  wall,  as  if  he  felt  a  cold  sword-blade 
thrust  through  his  heart.  Then  his  right  hand,  raised  in  readi- 
ness to  fire,  slowly  dropped,  and  at  the  moment  when  Jondrette 
repeated,  Do  you  hear  me,  Tftenardier  ?  Marius'  relaxing 
fingers  almost  let  the  pistol  fall.  Jondrette,  by  revealing  who 
he  was,  did  not  effect  M.  Leblanc,  but  he  stunned  Marius,  for 
he  knew  this  name  of  Thenardier,  which  was  apparently  un- 
known to  M.  Leblanc.  Only  remember  what  that  name  was 
for  him  !  He  had  carried  it  in  his  heart,  recorded  in  his  father's 
will !  he  bore  it  in  the  deepest  shrine  of  his  memory  in  the 
sacred  recommendation, — "  A  man  of  the  name  of  Thenardier 


MARIUS.  201 

saved  my  life  ;  if  my  son  meet  this  man  he  will  do  all  he  can 
for  him."  This  name,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  one  of  the 
pieties  of  his  soul,  and  he  blended  it  with  his  father's  name  in 
his  worship.  What !  This  man  was  The"nardier,  the  landlord 
of  Montfermeil,  whom  he  had  so  long  and  so  vainly  sought ! 
He  found  him  now,  and  in  what  a  state  !  His  father's  savior 
was  a  bandit !  this  man,  to  whom  Marius  burned  to  devote  him- 
self, was  a  monster !  the  liberator  of  Colonel  Pontmercy  was  on 
the  point  of  committing  a  crime,  whose  outline  Marius  could 
not  yet  see  very  distinctly,  but  which  resembled  an  assassina- 
tion !  And  on  whom  ?  Great  Heaven,  what  a  fatality,  what  a 
bitter  mockery  of  fate  !  His  father  commanded  him  from  his 
tomb  to  do  all  in  his  power  for  Thenardier.  During  fouryears 
Marius  had  had  no  other  idea  but  to  pay  this  debt  of  his 
father's,  and  at  the  very  moment  when  he  was  about  to  deliver 
over  to  justice  a  brigand,  in  the  act  of  crime,  destiny  cried  to 
him,  "  It  is  Thenardier  !  "  and  he  was  at  length  about  to  re- 
quite this  man,  for  saving  his  father's  life  amid  a  hailstorm  of 
grape-shot  on  the  heroic  field  of  Waterloo,  by  sending  him  to 
the  scaffold  !  He  had  vowed  that,  if  ever  he  found  this  The- 
nardier, he  would  throw  himself  at  his  feet,  and  he  had  found 
him,  but  for  the  purpose  of  handing  him  over  to  the  executioner ! 
His  father  said  to  him,  "Help  Thenardier,"  and  he  was  about 
to  answer  that  adored  and  sacred  voice  by  crushing  Thenar- 
dier !  To  show  his  father  in  his  grave  the  spectacle  of  the  man 
who  had  dragged  him  from  death,  at  the  peril  of  his  own  life, 
being  executed  on  the  Place  St.  Jacques,  by  the  agency  of  his 
son,  that  Marius  to  whom  he  bequeathed  this  name  !  And  then 
what  a  derision  it  was  to  have  so  long  carried  in  his  heart  the 
last  wishes  of  his  father,  in  order  to  perform  exactly  the  con- 
trary !  But,  on  the  other  hand,  how  could  he  witness  a  mur- 
der, and  not  prevent  it  ?  What,  should  he  condemn  the  victim 
and  spare  the  assassin  ?  could  he  be  bound  by  any  ties  of  grati- 
tude to  such  a  villain  ?  All  the  ideas  which  Marius  had  enter- 
tained for  four  years  were,  as  it  were,  run  through  the  body  by 
this  unexpected  stroke.  He  trembled,  all  depended  on  him, 
and  he  held  in  his  hands  the  unconscious  beings  who  were 
moving  before  his  eyes.  If  he  fired  the  pistol,  M.  Leblanc  was 
saved  and  Thenardier  lost ;  if  he  did  not  fire,  M.  Leblanc  was 
sacrificed  and  Thenardier  might,  perhaps,  escape.  Must  he 
hunt  down  the  one,  or  let  the  other  fall  ?  there  was  remorse  on 
either  side.  What  should  he  do?  which  should  he  choose?  be 
a  defaulter  to  the  most  imperious  recollections,  to  so  many  pro- 
found pledges  taken  to  himself,  to  the  most  sacred  duty,  to  the 


302  LES  MISERABLES. 

most  venerated  commands,  disobey  his  father's  will,  or  let  a 
crime  be  accomplished?  On  one  side  he  fancied  he  could  hear 
"  his  Ursule"  imploring  him  for  her  father,  on  the  other  the 
colonel  recommending  Thenardier  to  him.  He  felt  as  if  he  were 
going  mad.  His  knees  gave  way  under  him,  and  he  had  not 
even  time  to  deliberate,  as  the  scene  he  had  before  him  was  be- 
ing performed  with  such  furious  precipitation.  It  was  a  tornado 
of  which  he  had  fancied  himself  the  master,  but  which  was 
carrying  him  away  ;  he  was  on  the  verge  of  fainting. 

In  the  meanwhile  Thenardier  (we  will  not  call  him  other- 
wise in  future)  was  walking  up  and  down  before  the.  table, 
with  a  sort  of  wild  and  frenzied  triumph.  He  seized  the  can- 
dlestick and  placed  it  on  the  chimney-piece  with  such  a  violent' 
blow  that  the  candle  nearly  went  out,  and  the  tallow  spattered 
the  wall.  Then  he  turned  round  furiously  to  M.  Leblanc  and 
spat  forth  these  words. 

"  Done  brown  !  grilled,  fricassed !  spatch-cocked ! " 

And  he  began  walking  again  with  a  tremendous  explo- 
sion. 

"  Ah  !  I  have  found  you  again,  my  excellent  philanthropist ! 
my  millionaire  with  the  threadbare  coat !  the  giver  of  dolls  ! 
the  old  niggard  !  Ah,  you  do  not  recognize  me.  I  suppose  it 
wasn't  you  who  came  to  my  inn  at  Montfermeil  just  eight 
years  ago,  on  the  Christmas  night  of  1823!  it  wasn't  you  who 
carried  off  Fantine's  child,  the  Lark !  it  wasn't  you  who  wore 
a  yellow  watchman's  coat,  and  had  a  parcel  of  clothes  in  your 
hand,  just  as  you  had  this  morning.  Tell  me,  wife  !  It  is  his 
mania,  it  appears,  to  carry  to  houses  bundles  of  woollen  stock- 
ings, the  old  charitable  humbug  !  Are  you  a  cap-maker,  my 
lord  millionnaire  ?  you  give  your  profits  to  the  poor,  what  a 
holy  man!  what  a  mountebank!  Ah,  you  do  not  recognize 
me !  well,  I  recognize  you,  and  did  so  directly  you  thrust  your 
muzzle  in  here.  Ah,  you  will  be  taught  that  it  is  not  a  rosy 
game  to  go  like  that  to  people's  houses,  under  the  excuse  that 
they  are  inns,  with  such  a  wretched  coat  and  poverty-stricken 
look  that  they  feel  inclined  to  give  you  a  sou,  and  then  to  play 
the  generous,  rob  them  of  their  bread-winner,  and  threaten 
them  in  the  woods.  I'll  teach  you  that  you  won't  get  off  by 
bringing  people  when  they  are  ruined,  a  coat  that  is  too  large 
and  two  paltry  hospital  blankets,  you  old  scamp,  you  child- 
stealer ! " 

He  stopped,  and  for  a  moment  seemed  to  be  speaking  to 
himself.  It  appeared  as  if  his  fury  fell  into  some  hole,  like  the 
Rhone  :  then,  as  if  finishing  aloud  the  things  he  had  just 


MARIUS.  203 

been  saying  to  himself,  he  struck  the  table  with  1m  fist,  and 
cried, — 

"  With  his  simple  look  !  " 

Then  he  apostrophized  M.  Leblanc. 

"  By  heaven  !  you  made  a  fool  of  me  formerly,  and  are  the 
cause  of  all  my  misfortunes.  You  got  for  fifteen  hundred 
francs  a  girl  who  certainly  belonged  to  rich  parents,  who  had 
already  brought  me  in  a  deal  of  money,  and  from  "whom  I 
should  have  got  an  annuity  !  That  girl  would  have  made  up  to 
me  all  I  lost  in  that  wretched  pot-house,  where  I  threw  away 
like  an  ass  all  my  blessed  savings !  Oh,  I  wish  that  what  was 
drunk  at  my  house  were  poison  to  those  who  drank  it !  How- 
ever, no  matter !  Tell  me,  I  suppose  you  thought  me  a 
precious  fool  when  you  went  off  with  the  Lark.  You  had 
your  cudgel  in  the  forest,  and  were  the  stronger.  To-day  I 
shall  have  my  revenge,  for  I  hold  all  the  trumps ;  you  are 
done,  my  good  fellow.  Oh  !  how  I  laugh  when  I  think  that  he 
fell  into  the  trap  !  I  told  him  that  I  was  an  actor  that  my 
name  was  Fabantou,  that  I  had  played  with  Mamselle  Mars, 
and  that  my  landlord  insisted  on  being  paid  the  next  day,  and 
he  did  not  even  remember  that  Jan.  8th  and  not  Feb.  4th  is  quar- 
ter-day. The  absurd  idiot!  and  these  four  paltry  philips  he 
has  brought  me  !  the  ass !  He  had  not  the  pluck  to  go  as  far 
as  five  hundred  francs ;  and  how  he  swallowed  my  platitudes  1 
it  amused  me.  and  I  said  to  myself,  There's  an  ass  for  you ! 
Well,  I  have  got  you  ;  this  morning  I  licked  your  paws,  and 
to-night  I  shall  gnaw  your  heart !  " 

Th<5nardier  stopped  out  of  breath ;  his  little  narrow  chest 
panted  like  a  forge-bellows.  His  eye  was  full  of  the  ignoble 
happiness  of  a  weak,  cruel,  and  cowardly  creature  who  is  at 
length  able  to  trample  on  the  man  he  feared,  and  insult  him 
whom  he  flattered;  it  is  the  joy  of  a  dwarf  putting  his  heel  on 
the  head  of  Goliath,  the  joy  of  a  jackal  beginning  to  rend  a 
sick  bull,  which  is  unable  to  defend  itself,  but  still  has  sufficient 
vitality  to  suffer. 

M.  Leblanc  did  not  interrupt  him,  but  said,  when  he  ceased 
speaking, — 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  and  you  are  mistaken.  I 
am  a  very  poor  man,  and  any  thing  but  a  millionnaire.  I  do 
not  know  you,  and  you  take  me  for  somebody  else." 

"  Ah  !"  Thenardier  said  hoarsely,  "  a  fine  dodge !  So  you 
adhere  to  that  joke,  eh,  old  fellow?  Ah,  you  do  not  remem- 
ber, you  do  not  see  who  I  am  !  " 

*'  Pardon  me,  sir,"  M.  Leblanc  replied,  with  a  polite  accent, 


204  LES  MISERABLES. 

which  had  something  strange  and  grand  about  it  at  such  a  mo- 
ment, "  I  see  that  you  are  a  bandit." 

We  may  remind  those  who  have  not  noticed  the  fact,  that 
odious  beings  possess  a  susceptibility,  and  that  monsters  are 
ticklish.  At  the  word  "  bandit,"  Mother  Thenardier  leaped 
from  the  bed,  and  her  husband  clutched  a  chair  as  if  about  to 
break  it  in  his  hand.  "  Don't  stir,  you,"  he  shouted  to  his 
wife,  and  then  turning  to  M.  Leblanc,  said, — 

"  Bandit !  yes,  I  know  that  you  rich  swells  call  us  so.  It  is 
true  that  I  have  been  bankrupt.  I  am  in  hiding,  I  have  no 
bread,  I  have  not  a  farthing,  and  I  am  a  bandit !  For  three 
days  I  have  eaten  nothing,  and  I  am  a  bandit!  ah,  you  fellows 
warm  your  toes,  you  wear  pumps  made  by  Sakoski,  you  have 
wadded  coats  like  archbishops,  you  live  on  the  first  floors  of 
houses  where  a  porter  is  kept,  you  eat  truffles,  asparagus  at 
forty  francs  the  bundle  in  January,  and  green  peas.  You  stuff 
yourselves,  and  when  you  want  to  know  whether  it  is  cold  you 
look  in  the  newspapers  to  see  what  Chevalier's  thermometer 
marks ;  but  we  are  the  thermometers.  We  have  no  call  to  go 
and  look  at  the  corner  of  the  Jour  d'Horloge  how  many  de- 
grees of  cold  there  are,  for  we  feel  the  blood  stopped  in  our 
veins,  and  the  ice  reach  our  hearts,  and  we  say,  '  There  is  no 
God ! '  and  you  come  into  our  caverns,  yes,  our  caverns,  to  call 
us  bandits  !  But  we  will  eat  you,  we  will  devour  you,  poor 
little  chap !  Monsieur  le  Millionnaire,  learn  this :  I  was  an 
established  man,  I  held  a  license,  I  was  an  elector,  and  am 
still  a  citizen,  while  you,  perhaps,  are  not  one." 

Here  Thenardier  advanced  a  step  toward  the  man  near  the 
door,  and  added  with  a  quiver, — 

"  When  I  think  that  he  dared  to  come  and  address  me  like  a 
cobbler." 

Then  he  turned  upon  M.  Leblanc  with  a  fresh  outburst  of 
frenzy, — 

"  And  know  this,  too,  my  worthy  philanthropist,  I  am  not  a 
doubtful  man,  nor  one  whose  name  is  unknown,  and  carries  off 
children  from  houses !  I  am  an  ex-French  soldier,  and  ought 
to  have  the  cross  !  I  was  at  Waterloo,  and  in  the  battle  I 
saved  the  life  of  a  general  called  the  Comte  de  Pontmercy ! 
The  picture  you  see  here,  and  which  was  painted  by  David  at 
Bruqueselles,  do  you  know  whom  it  represents?  it  represents 
me,  for  David  wished  to  immortalize  the  exploit.  I  have  the 
general  on  my  back,  and  I  am  carrying  him  through  the  grape- 
shot.  That  is  the  story  !  the  genaral  never  did  any  thing  for 
me.  ami  he  is  110  better  than  the  rest,  but,  for  all  that,  I  saved 


MARIUS.  205 

his  life  at  the  peril  of  my  own  and  I  have  my  pockets  filled 
with  certificates  of  the  fact.  I  am  a  soldier  of  Waterloo,  a 
thousand  names  of  names  !  And  now  that  I  have  had  the 
goodness  to  tell  you  all  this,  let  us  come  to  a  finish ;  I  want 
money,  I  want  a  deal  of  money,  an  enormous  amount  of  money, 
or  I  shall  exterminate  you,  by  the  thunder  of  heaven." 

Marius  had  gained  a  little  mastery  over  his  agony,  and  was 
listening.  The  last  possibility  of  doubt  had  vanished,  and  it 
was  really  the  Thenardier  of  the  will.  Marius  shuddered  at 
the  charge  of  ingratitude  cast  at  his  father,  and  which  he  was  on 
the  point  of  justifying  so  fatally,  and  his  perplexities  were  re- 
doubled. Besides,  there  was  in  Thenardier's  every  word,  in 
his  accent  and  gestures,  in  his  glance,  which  caused  flames  to 
issue  from  every  word,  in  this  explosion  of  an  evil  nature 
displaying  every  thing,  in  this  admixture  of  boasting  and 
abjectness,  pride  and  meanness,  rage  and  folly,  in  this  chaos  of 
real  griefs  and  false  sentiments,  in  this  impudence  of  a  wicked 
man  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  violence,  in  this  daring  nudity  of 
an  ugly  soul,  and  in  this  conflagration  of  all  possible  suffering 
combined  with  all  possible  hatred,  something  which  was  hideous 
as  evil  and  poignant  as  truth. 

The  master-piece,  the  picture  by  David,  which  he  offered  M. 
Leblanc,  was,  as  the  reader  will  have  perceived,  nought  else 
than  his  public-house  sign,  painted  by  himself,  and  the  sole 
relic  he  had  preserved  from  his  shipwreck  at  Montfermeil.  As 
he  had  stepped  aside  Marius  was  now  enabled  to  look  at  this 
thing,  and  in  the  daub  he  really  recognized  a  battle,  a  back- 
ground of  smoke,  and  one  man  carrying  another.  It  was  the 
group  of  Thenardier  and  Pontmercy  ;  the  savior  sergeant  and 
the  saved  colonel.  Marius  felt  as  if  intoxicated,  for  this 
picture  represented  to  some  extent  his  loving  father ;  it  was  no 
longer  an  inn  sign-board,  but  a  resurrection  ;  a  tomb  opened,  a 
phantom  rose.  Marius  heard  his  heart  beating  at  his  temples ; 
he  had  the  guns  of  Waterloo  in  his  ears ;  his  bleeding  father 
vaguely  painted  on  this  ill-omened  board  startled  him,  and  he 
fancied  that  the  shapeless  figure  was  gazing  fixedly  at  him. 
When  Thenardier  regained  breath  he  fastened  his  blood-shot 
eyes  on  M.  Leblanc,  and  said  to  him  in  a  low,  sharp  voice, — 

"  What  have  you  to  say  before  we  put  the  handcuffs  on 
you?" 

M.  Leblanc  was  silent.  In  the  midst  of  this  silence  a  ropy 
voice  uttered  this  mournful  sarcasm  in  the  passage, — 

"  If  there's  any  wood  to  be  chopped,  I'm  your  man." 

It  was  the  fellow  with  the  pole-axe  amusing  himself.     At 


206  LES    MISERABLES. 

the  same  time  an  immense,  hairy,  earth-colored  face  appeared 
in  the  door  with  a  frightful  grin,  which  displayed  not  teeth  but 
tusks.  It  was  the  face  of  the  man  with  the  pole-axe. 

"  Why  have  you  taken  off  your  mask  ?  "  Thenardier  asked 
him  furiously. 

"  To  laugh,"  the  man  answered. 

For  some  minutes  past  M.  Leblanc  seemed  to  be  watching 
and  following  every  movement  of  Thenardier,  who,  blinded 
and  dazzled  by  his  own  rage,  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
room,  in  the  .confidence  of  knowing  the  door  guarded,  of  hold- 
ing an  unarmed  man,  and  of  being  nine  against  one,  even  sup- 
posing that  his  wife  only  counted  for  one  man.  In  his  speech 
to  the  man  with  the  pole-axe  he  turned  his  back  to  M.  Le- 
blanc ;  the  latter  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity,  upset  the 
chair  with  his  foot,  the  table  with  his  fist,  and  with  one  bound, 
ere  Thenardier  was  able  to  turn,  he  was  at  the  window.  To 
open  it  and  bestride  the  sill  only  took  a  second,  and  he  was 
half  out  when  six  powerful  hands  seized  him  and  energetically 
dragged  him  back  into  the  room.  The  three  "  chimney- 
sweeps" had  rushed  upon  him,  and  at  the  same  time  Mother 
Thenardier  seized  him  by  the  hair. 

At  the  noise  which  ensued  the  other  bandits  ran  in  from  the 
passage,  and  the  old  man  on  the  bed,  who  seemed  the  worse 
for  liquor,  came  up  tottering  with  a  road-mender's  hammer  in 
his  hand. 

One  of  the  sweeps,  whose  blackened  face  the  candle  lit  up, 
and  in  whom  Marius  recognized,  in  spite  of  the  blackening, 
Panchaud,  alias  Printanier,  alias  Bigrenaille,  raised  above  M. 
Leblanc's  head  a;  species  of  life-preserver,  made  of  two  lumps 
of  lead  at  the  ends  of  an  iron  bar. 

Marius  could  not  resist  this  sight.  "  My  father,"  he  thought, 
a  forgive  me  !  "  and  his  finger  sought  the  trigger.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  firing,  when  Thenardier  cried, — 

"  Do  not  hurt  him." 

This  desperate  attempt  of  the  victim,  far  from  exasperating 
Thenardier,  had  calmed  him.  There  were  two  men  in  him, 
the  ferocious  man  and  the  skilful  man.  Up  to  this  moment,  in 
the  exuberance  of  triumph,  and  while  standing  before  his 
motionless  victim,  the  ferocious  man  had  prevailed,  but  when 
the  victim  made  an  effort  and  appeared  inclined  to  struggle,  the 
skilful  man  reappeared  and  took  the  mastery. 

"  Do  him  no  harm  !  "  he  repeated,  and  his  first  service  was, 
though  he  little  suspected  it,  that  he  stopped  the  discharge  of 
the  pistol,  and  paralyzed  Marius,  to  whom  the  affair  did  not 


MARIUS.  207 

appear  so  urgent,  and  who  in  the  presence  of  this  new  phase 
saw  no  harm  in  waiting  a  little  longer.  Who  knew  whether 
some  accident  might  not  occur,  which  would  deliver  him  from 
the  frightful  alternative  of  letting  Ursule's  father  perish,  or 
destroying  the  colonel's  savior  ? 

A  herculean  struggle  had  commenced.  With  one  blow  of 
his  fist  in  the  chest  M.  Leblanc  sent  the  old  man  rolling  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and  then  with  two  back-handers  knocked 
down  two  other  assailants,  and  held  one  under  each  of  his 
knees.  The  villains  groaned  under  this  pressure,  as  under  a 
granite  mill-stone,  but  the  four  others  had  seized  the  formidable 
old  man  by  the  arms  and  neck,  and  were  holding  him  down 
upon  the  two  "  sweeps."  Thus,  master  of  two,  and  mastered 
by  the  others,  crushing  those  beneath  him,  and  crushed  by 
those  above  him,  M.  Leblanc  disappeared  beneath  this  horrible 
group  of  bandits,  like  a  boar  attacked  by  a  howling  pack  of 
dogs. 

They  succeeded  in  throwing  him  on  to  the  bed  nearest  the 
window,  and  held  him  down.  Mother  Thenardier  did  not  once 
let  go  his  hair. 

"  Don't  you  interfere,"  Thenardier  said  to  her,  "  you  will 
tear  your  shawl." 

The  woman  obeyed,  as  the  she-wolf  obeys  the  wolf,  with  a 
snarl. 

"  You  fellows,"  Thenardier  continued,  "  can  search  him." 

M.  Leblanc  appeared  to  have  given  up  all  thought  of  resist- 
ance, and  they  searched  him.  He  had  nothing  about  him  but 
a  leathern  purse  containing  six  francs  and  his  handkerchief. 
Thenardier  put  the  latter  in  his  own  pocket. 

"  What !  no  pocket-book  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  and  no  watch,"  one  of  the  sweeps  replied. 

"  Xo  matter,"  the  masked  man  who  held  the  large  key 
muttered  in  the  voice  of  a  ventriloquist,  "he  is  a  tough  old 
bird." 

Thenardier  went  to  the  corner  near  the  door,  and  took  up 
some  ropes,  \vhich  he  threw  to  them. 

"  Fasten  him  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,"  he  said,  and  noticing 
the  old  man  whom  M.  Leblanc  had  knocked  down  still  motion- 
less on  the  floor,  is  asked, — 

"  la  Boulatruelle  dead  ?  " 

"  No,"  Bigrenaille  answered,  "  he's  drunk." 

"  Sweep  him  into  a  corner,"  Thenardier  said. 

Two  of  the  sweeps  thrust  the  drunkard  with  their  feet  to  the 
side  of  the  old  iron. 


208  LES   MISERABLES. 

"  Babet,  why  did  you  bring  so  many  ?  "  The*nardier  said  in  a 
whisper  to  the  man  with  the  cudgel,  "  it  was  unnecessary." 

"They  all  wanted  to  be  in  it,"  the  man  answered,  "for  the 
season  is  bad,  and  there's  nothing  doing." 

The  bed  upon  which  M.  Leblanc  had  been  thrown  was  a  sort 
of  hospital  bed  on  four  clumsy  wooden  legs.  The  bandits  tied 
him  firmly  in  an  upright  posture  to  the  end  of  the  bed, 
furthest  from  the  window  and  nearest  the  chimney-piece. 

When  the  last  knot  was  tied  Thenardier  took  a  chair  and  sat 
down  almost  facing  the  prisoner.  He  was  no  longer  the  same 
man  ;  in  a  few  minutes  his  countenance  had  passed  from  fren- 
zied violence  to  tranquil  and  cunning  gentleness.  Marius  had 
a  difficulty  in  recognizing  in  this  polite  smile  of  an  official  the 
almost  bestial  mouth  which  had  been  foaming  a  moment  pre- 
viously ;  he  regarded  this  fantastic  and  alarming  metamorphosis 
with  stupor  and  he  felt  as  a  man  would  feel  who  saw  a  tiger 
changed  into  an  attorney. 

"  Sir,"  said  Thenardier,  and  made  a  sign  to  the  bandits  who 
still  held  M.  Leblanc  to  fall  back,  "  leave  me  to  talk  with  the 
gentleman,''  he  said.  All  withdrew  to  the  door  and  he  re- 
sumed,— 

"  You  did  wrong  to  try  and  jump  out  of  the  window,  for 
you  might  have  broken  a  leg.  Now,  with  your  permission,  we 
will  talk  quietly  ;  and,  in  the  first  place,  I  will  communicate  to 
you  a  thing  I  have  noticed,  that  you  have  not  yet  uttered  the 
slightest  cry." 

Thenardier  was  right,  the  fact  was  so,  although  it  had 
escaped  Marius  in  his  trouble.  M.  Leblanc  had  merely  said  a  few 
words  with  out  raising  his  voice,  and  even  in  his  struggle  near 
the  window  with  the  six  bandits  he  had  preserved  the  pro- 
foundest  and  most  singular  silence. 

Thenardier  went  on, — 

"Good  heavens !  you  might  have  tried  to  call  for  help,  and  I 
should  not  have  thought  it  improper.  Such  a  thing  as  Mur- 
der !  is  shouted  on  such  occasions  ;  I  should  not  have  taken  it 
in  ill-part.  It  is  very  simple  that  a  man  should  make  a  bit  of 
a  row  when  he  finds  himself  with  persons  who  do  not  inspire 
him  with  sufficient  confidence.  If  you  had  done  so  we  should 
not  have  interfered  with  you  or  thought  of  gagging  you,  and  I 
will  tell  you  the  reason  why.  This  room  is  very  deaf,  it  has 
only  that  in  its  favor,  but  it  has  that.  It  is  a  cellar,  you  might 
explode  a  bombshell  here  and  it  would  not  produce  the  effect 
of  a  drunkard's  snore  at  the  nearest  post.  Here  cannon  would 
go  bourn  and  thunder  pouf.  It  is  a  convenient  lodging.  But 


MARIUS.  209 

Btillyou  did  not  cry  out;  all  the  better,  and  I  compliment  you 
on  it,  and  will  tell  you  what  conclusion  I  draw  from  the  fact. 
My  dear  sir,  when  a  man  cries  for  help,  who  come  ?  the  police ; 
and  after  the  police  ?  justice.  "Well,  you  did  not  cry  out,  and 
so  you  are  no  more  desirous  than  we  are  for  the  arrival  of  the 
police.  The  fact  is — and  I  have  suspected  it  for  some  time — 
that  you  have  some  interest  in  hiding  something;  for  our  part, 
we  have  the  same  interest,  and  so  we  may  be  able  to  come  to 
an  understanding." 

While  saying  this  Thenardier  was  trying  to  drive  the  sharp 
points  that  issued  from  his  eyes  into  his  prisoner's  conscience. 
Besides,  his  language,  marked  with  a  sort  of  moderate  and 
cunning  insolence,  was  reserved  and  almost  chosen,  and  in  this 
villain  who  was  just  before  only  a  bandit,  could  now  be  seen 
"  the  man  who  had  studied  for  the  priesthood." 

The  silence  which  the  prisoner  had  maintained,  this  precau- 
tion which  went  so  far  as  the  very  forgetfulness  of  care  for  his 
life,  this  resistance  so  opposed  to  the  first  movement  of  nature, 
which  is  to  utter  a  cry,  troubled  and  painfully  amazed  Marius, 
BO  soon  as  his  attention  was  drawn  to  it.  Thenardier's  well- 
founded  remark  but  rendered  denser  the  mysterious  gloom  be- 
hind which  was  concealed  the  grave  and  peculiar  face,  to  which 
Courfeyrac  had  thrown  the  sobriquet  of  M.  Leblanc.  But 
whoever  this  man  might  be,  though  bound  with  cords,  sur- 
rounded by  bandits,  and  half  buried,  so  to  speak,  in  a  grave 
where  the  earth  fell  upon  him  at  every  step — whether  in  the 
presence  of  Thenardier  furious  or  of  Thenardier  gentle — he 
remained  impassive,  and  Marius  could  not  refrain  from  admir- 
ing this  face  so  superbly  melancholy  at  such  a  moment. 

He  was  evidently  a  soul  inaccessible  to  terror,  and  ignorant 
of  what  it  is  to  be  alarmed.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who 
overcome  the  amazement  produced  by  desperate  situations. 
However  extreme  the  crisis  might  be,  however  inevitable  the 
catastrophe,  he  had  none  of  the  agony  of  the  drowning  man, 
who  opens  horrible  eyes  under  Water. 

Thenardier  rose  without  any  affectation,  removed  the  screen 
from  before  the  fire-place,  and  thus  unmasked  the  chafing-pan 
full  of  burning  charcoal,  in  which  the  prisoner  could  perfectly 
see  the  chisel  at  a  white  heat,  and  studded  here  and  there  with 
small  red  stars. 

Then  he  came  back  and  sat  down  near  M.  Leblanc. 

"  I  will  continue,"  he  said,  '*  we  can  come  to  an  understand- 
ing, so  let  us  settle  this  amicably.  I  did  wrong  to  let  my 
temper  carry  me  away  just  now,  I  do  not  know  where  my 


210  LES  MISERABLES. 

senses  were,  I  went  much  too  far  and  uttered  absurdities.  For 
instance,  because  you  are  a  millionnaire,  I  told  you  that  I  in- 
sisted on  money,  a  great  deal  of  money,  an  immense  sum  of 
money,  and  that  was  not  reasonable.  Good  heavens  !  you  may 
be  rich,  but  you  have  burdens,  for  who  is  there  that  has  not? 
I  do  not  wish  to  ruin  you,  for  I  am  not  a  bailiff  after  all.  I 
am  not  one  of  those  men  who,  because  they  have  advantage  of 
position,  employ  it  to  be  ridiculous.  Come,  I  will  make  a  sac- 
rifice on  my  side,  and  be  satisfied  with  two  hundred  thousand 
francs." 

M.  Leblauc  did  not  utter  a  syllable,  and  so  Thenardier  con- 
tinued,— 

"  You  see  that  I  put  plenty  of  water  in  my  wine.  I  do  not 
know  the  amount  of  your  fortune,  but  I  am  aware  tliat  you  do 
not  care  for  money,  and  a  benevolent  man  like  you  can  easily 
give  two  hundred  thousand  francs  to  an  unfortunate  parent. 
Of  course,  you  are  reasonable  too,  you  cannot  have  supposed 
that  I  would  take  all  that  trouble  this  morning,  and  organize 
this  affair  to-night,  which  is  a  well-done  job,  in  the  opinion  of 
these  gentlemen,  merely  to  ask  you  for  enough  money  to  go 
and  drink  fifteen  sous  wine  and  eat  veal  at  Desnoyer's.  But 
two  hundred  thousand  francs,  that's  worth  the  trouble ;  once 
that  trifle  has  come  out  of  your  pocket  I  will  guarantee  that 
you  have  nothing  more  to  apprehend.  You  will  say,  '  But  I 
have  not  two  hundred  thousand  francs  about  me.'  Oh,  I  am 
not  exorbitant,  and  I  do  not  insist  on  that.  I  only  ask  one 
thing  of  you :  be  good  enough  to  write  what  I  shall  dictate." 

Here  Thenardier  stopped,  but  added,  laying  a  stress  on  the 
words  and  casting  a  smile  at  the  chafing-dish, — 

"  I  warn  you  that  I  shall  not  accept  the  excuse  that  you 
cannot  write." 

A  grand  inquisitor  might  have  envied  that  smile.  Thenar- 
dier pushed  the  table  close  up  to  M.  Leblanc,  and  took  pen, 
ink,  and  paper  out  of  the  drawer,  which  he  left  half  open,  and 
in  which  the  long  knife-blade  flashed.  He  laid  the  sheet  of 
paper  before  M.  Leblanc. 

"  Write  !  "  he  said. 

The  prisoner  at  last  spoke. 

"  How  can  you  expect  me  to  write  ?  my  arms  are  tied." 

"  That  is  true,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Thenardier,  "  you 
are  quite  right ;  "  and  turning  to  Bigrenaille  he  added,  "  Un- 
fasten the  gentleman's  right  arm." 

Panchaud,  alias  Printanier,  alias  Bigrenaille,  obeyed  Then- 


MARIUS.  211 

ardier's  orders,  and  when  the  prisoner's  hand  was  free,  Thenar- 
dier  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"  Make  up  your  mind,  sir,  that  you  are  in  our  absolute 
power,  no  human  interference  can  liberate  you,  and  we  should 
really  be  sorry  to  be  forced  to  proceed  to  disagreeable  extremi- 
ties. I  know  neither  your  name  nor  your  address,  but  I  warn 
you  that  you  will  remain  tied  up  here  until  the  person  com- 
missioned to  deliver  the  letter  you  are  going  to  write  has 
returned.  Now  be  good  enough  to  write." 

"  What?  "  the  prisoner  asked. 

Thenardier  began  dictating  :  "  My  dear  daughter." 

The  prisoner  started,  and  raised  his  eyes  to  Thenardier,  who 
went  on, — 

"  Come  to  me  at  once,  for  I  want  you  particularly.  The 
person  who  delivers  this  letter  to  you  lias  instructions  to  bring 
you  to  me.  I  am  waiting.  Come  in  perfect  confidence." 

M.  Leblanc  wrote  this  down,  and  Thenardier  resumed, — 
"  By  the  way,  efface  that  '  Come  in  perfect  confidence,'  for  it 
might  lead  to  a  supposition  that  the  affair  is  not  perfectly 
simple,  and  create  distrust." 

M.  Leblanc  erased  the  words. 

"  Now,"  Thenardier  added,  "  sign  it.     What  is  your  name  ?  " 

The  prisoner  laid  down  the  pen,  and  asked, — 

"  For  whom  is  this  letter  ?  " 

"You  know  very  well,"  Thenardier  answered;  "  for  the 
little  one,  I  just  told  you  so." 

It  was  evident  that  Thenardier  avoided  mentioning  the  name 
of  the  girl  in  question  ;  he  called  her  "  the  Lark,"  he  called 
her  "  the  little  one,"  but  he  did  not  pronounce  her  name.  It 
was  the  precaution  of  a  clever  man  who  keeps  his  secret  from 
his  accomplices,  and  mentioning  the  name  would  have  told 
them  the  whole  affair,  and  taught  them  more  than  there  was 
any  occasion  for  them  to  know.  So  he  repeated, — 

"  Sign  it.     "What  is  your  name  ?". 

"  Urbain  Fabre,"  said  the  prisoner. 

Thenardier,  with  the  movement  of  a  cat,  thrust  his  hand  into 
his  pocket  and  drew  out  the  handkerchief  found  on  M.  Leblanc. 
He  sought  for  the  mark,  and  held  it  to  the  candle. 

"  U.-F.,  all  right,  Urbain  Fabre.     Well,  sign  it  U.  F." 

The  prisoner  did  so. 

"  As  two  hands  are  needed  to  fold  a  letter,  give  it  to  me  and 
I  will  do  so." 

This  done,  Thenardier  added, — 

"  Write  the  address,  to  Mademoiselle  Pabre,  at  your  house.  I 


212  LES  MISERABLES. 

fenow  that  you  live  somewhere  near  here  in  the  neighborhood 
of  St.  Jacques  du  Haut-pas,  as  you  attend  mass  there  every 
day,  but  I  do  not  know  in  what  street.  I  see  that  you  under- 
stand your  situation,  and  as  you  have  not  told  a  falsehood  about 
your  name  you  will  not  do  so  about  your  address.  Write  it 
yourself." 

The  prisoner  remained  pensive  for  a  moment,  and  then  took 
up  the  pen  and  wrote, — 

"  Mademoiselle  Fabre,  at  M.  Urbain  Fabre's,  No.  17,  Rue 
St.  Dominique  d'Enfer." 

Thenardier  seized  the  letter  with  a  sort  of  feverish  convul- 
sion. 

"Wife,"  he  shouted,  and  the  woman  came  up.  "Here  is 
the  letter,  and  you  know  what  you  have  to  do.  There  is  a 
hackney  coach  down  below,  so  be  off  at  once,  and  return  ditto." 
Then  he  turned  to  the  man  with  the  pole-axe,  and  said,  "  As 
you  have  taken  off  your  false  nose  you  can  accompany  her. 
Get  up  behind  the  coach.  You  know  where  you  left  it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  man,  and  depositing  the  axe  in  a  corner,  he 
followed  the  woman.  As  they  were  going  away  Thenardier 
thrust  his  head  out  of  the  door  and  shouted  down  the  pas- 
sage,— 

"  Mind  and  do  not  lose  the  letter !  Remember  you  have  two 
hundred  thousand  francs  about  you." 

The  woman's  hoarse  voice  replied, — 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  I  have  put  it  in  my  stomach." 

A  minute  had  not  elapsed  when  the  crack  of  a  whip  could 
be  heard  rapidly  retiring. 

"  All  right,"  Thenardier  growled,  "  they  are  going  at  a  good 
pace ;  with  a  gallop  like  that  she  will  be  back  in  three-quarters 
of  an  hour." 

He  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  fire-side,  and  sat  down  with  folded 
arms,  and  holding  his  muddy  boots  to  the  chaflng-dish. 

"  My  feet  are  cold,"  he  said. 

Only  five  bandits  remained  in  the  den  with  Thenardier  and 
tlie  prisoner.  These  men,  through  the  masks  or  soot  that  cov- 
ered their  faces  and  rendered  them,  with  a  choice  of  horror, 
charcoal-burners,  negroes  or  demons,  had  a  heavy,  dull  look, 
and  it  was  plain  that  they  performed  a  crime  like  a  job,  tran- 
quilly, without  passion  or  pity,  and  with  a  sort  of  fatigue. 
They  were  heaped  up  in  a  corner  like  brutes,  and  were  silent. 
Thenardier  was  warming  his  feet,  and  the  prisoner  had  fallen 
back  into  his  taciturnity  ;  a  sinister  calmness  had  succeeded 


MARIUS.  213 

the  formidable  noise  which  had  filled  the  garret  a  few  moment* 
previously. 

The  candle,  on  which  a  large  mushroom  had  formed,  scarce 
lit  up  the  immense  room  ;  the  chafing-dish  had  grown  black, 
and  all  these  monstrous  heads  cast  misshapen  shadows  upon  the 
walls  and  the  ceiling. 

No  other  sound  was  audible  save  the  regular  breathing  of  t!;e 
old  drunkard,  who  was  asleep. 

Marius  was  waiting  in  a  state  of  anxiety,  which  every  thing 
tended  to  augment.  The  enigma  was  more  impenetrable  than 
ever ;  who  was  this  "  little  one,"  whom  Thenardier  had  also 
called  "  the  Lark," — was  she  "his  Ursule?"  The  prisoner 
had  not  seemed  affected  by  this  name  of  the  Lark,  and  had  an- 
swered with  the  most  natural  air  in  the  world,  "  I  do  not  know 
what  you  mean."  On  the  other  hand,  the  two  letters  U.  F. 
were  explained,  they  were  Urbain  Fabre,  and  Ursula's  name 
was  no  longer  Ursule.  This  is  what  Marius  saw  most  clearly. 
A  sort  of  frightful  fascination  kept  him  nailed  to  the  spot, 
whence  he  surveyed  and  commanded  the  whole  scene.  He 
stood  there  almost  incapable  of  reflection  and  movement,  as  if 
annihilated  by  the  frightful  things  which  he  saw  close  to  him  ; 
and  he  waited,  hoping  for  some  incident,  no  matter  its  nature, 
unable  to  collect  his  thoughts,  and  not  knowing  what  to  do. 

"  In  any  case,"  he  said,  "  if  she  is  the  Lark,  I  shall  see  her, 
for  Mother  Thenardier  will  bring  her  here.  In  that  case  I  will 
give  my  life  and  blood,  should  it  be  necessary,  to  save  her,  and 
nothing  shall  stop  me." 

Nearly  half  an  hour  passed  in  this  way  ;  Thenardier  seemed 
absorbed  in  dark  thoughts,  and  the  prisoner  did  not  stir.  Still 
Marius  fancied  that  he  could  hear  at  intervals  a  low,  dull 
sound  in  the  direction  of  the  prisoner.  All  at  once  Thenardier 
addressed  his  victim. 

"  By  the  way,  M.  Fabre,"  he  said,  "I  may  as  well  tell  you 
something  at  once." 

As  these  few  words  seemed  the  commencement  of  an  expla- 
nation, Marius  listened  carefully.  Thenardier  continued, — 

"  My  wife  will  be  back  soon,  so  do  not  be  impatient.  I  be- 
lieve that  the  Lark  is  really  your  daughter,  and  think  it  very 
simple  that  you  should  keep  her,  but  listen  to  me  for  a  mo- 
ment. My  wife  will  go  to  her  with  your  letter,  and  I  told 
Madame  Tlienardier  to  dress  herself  in  the  way  you  saw,  that 
your  young  lady  might  make  no  difficulty  about  following  her. 
They  will  both  get  into  the  hackney  coach  with  my  comrade 
behind;  near  a  certain  banier  there  is  a  trap  drawn  by  two  ex- 


214  LES   MISERABLES. 

cellent  horses  ;  your  young  lady  will  be  driven  up  to  it  in  the 
hackney  coach,  and  get  into  the  trap  with  my  pal.  while  my 
wife  returns  here  to  report  progress.  As  for  your  young  lady, 
no  harm  will  be  done  her;  she  will  be  taken  to  a  place  where 
she  will  be  all  safe,  and  so  soon  as  you  have  handed  me  the 
trifle  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs  she  will  be  restored  to 
you.  If  you  have  me  arrested,  my  pal  will  settle  the  Lark, 
that's  all." 

The  prisoner  did  not  utter  a  word,  and  after  a  pause  Thenar- 
dier  continued, — 

"  It  is  simple  enough,  as  you  see,  and  there  will  be  no  harm, 
unless  you  like  to  make  harm.  I  have  told  you  all  about  it, 
and  warned  you,  that  you  might  know." 

He  stopped,  but  the  prisoner  did  not  interrupt  the  silence, 
and  Thenardier  added, — 

"  So  soon  as  my  wife  has  returned  and  said  to  me,  'The 
Lark  is  under  weigh,'  we  will  release  you,  and  you  can  sleep 
at  home  if  you  like.  You  see  that  we  have  no  ill  intentions." 

Frightful  images  passed  across  the  mind  of  Marius.  What ! 
they  were  not  going  to  bring  the  girl  here  !  One  of  the 
monsters  was  going  to  carry  her  off  in  the  darkness !  where 
— ?  Oh,  if  it  were  she  !  and  it  was  plain  that  it  was  so.  Marius 
felt  the  beating  of  his  heart  stop;  what  should  he  do?  fire  the 
pistol  and  deliver  all  these  villains  iuto  the  hands  of  justice  ? 
But  the  hideous  man  with  the  pole-axe  could  not  be  the  less  out 
of  reach  with  the  girl,  and  Marius  thought  of  Thenardier's  words, 
whose  sanguinary  meaning  he  could  read, — If  you  have  me  ar- 
rested, my  pal  will  settle  the  Lark;  now  he  felt  himself  checked, 
not  only  by  the  colonel's  will,  but  by  his  love  and  the  peril 
of  her  whom  he  loved. 

The  frightful  situation,  which  had  already  lasted  above  an 
hour,  changed  its  aspect  at  every  moment,  and  Marius  had  the 
strength  to  review  in  turn  all  the  most  frightful  conjectures, 
while  seeking  a  hope  and  finding  none.  The  tumult  of  his 
thoughts  contrasted  with  the  lugubrious  silence  of  the  den.  In 
the  midst  of  this  silence  the  sound  of  the  stair-case  door  being 
opened  and  shut  became  audible.  The  prisoner  gave  a  start 
in  his  bonds. 

"Here's  my  wife,"  said  Thenardier. 

He  had  scarce  finished  speaking  when  Mother  Thenardier 
rushed  into  the  room,  red,  out  of  breath,  and  with  flashing  eyes, 
and  shouted  as  she  struck  her  thighs  with  her 'two  big  hands,— 

"  A  false  address." 


MARIUS.  21$ 

The  brigand,  who  had  accompanied  her,  appeared  behind, 
and  took  up  his  pole-axe  again. 

"A  false  address?"  Thenardier  repeated,  and  she  went 
on, — 

"  No  Monsieur  Urbain  Fabre  known  at  No.  17,  Rue  St. 
Dominique.  They  never  heard  of  him." 

She  stopped  to  snort,  and  then  continued, — 

"  Monsieur  Thenardier,  that  old  cove  has  made  a  fool  of 
you  ;  for  you  are  too  good-hearted,  I  keep  on  telling  you.  I 
would  have  cut  his  throat  to  begin  with !  and  if  he  had  sulked 
I  would  have  boiled  him  alive  !  that  would  have  made  him 
speak  and  tell  us  where  his  daughter  is,  and  where  he  keeps 
his  money.  That  is  how  I  should  have  managed  the  affair. 
People  are  right  when  they  say  that  men  are  more  stupid  than 
women.  Nobody  at  No.  17,  it  is  a  large  gateway.  No  Mon- 
sieur Fabre  at  No.  17,  and  we  went  at  a  gallop,  with  a  fee  for 
the  driver  and  all !  I  spoke  to  the  porter  and  his  wife,  who 
is  a  fine,  tall  woman,  and  they  did  not  know  anybody  of  the 
name." 

Marius  breathed  again,  for,  She,  Ursule,  or  the  Lark — he 
no  longer  knew  tier  name — was  saved. 

While  the  exasperated  woman  was  vociferating  Thenardier 
sat  down  at  the  table;  he  remained  for  some  minutes  without 
saying  a  word,  balancing  his  right  leg  and  looking  at  the  chaf- 
ing-dish with  an  air  of  savage  reverie. 

At  last  he  said  to  the  prisoner  slowly,  and  with  a  peculiarly 
ferocious  accent, — 

"  A  false  address?  why,  what  did  you  expect?" 

"  To  gain  time  !  "  the  prisoner  thundered. 

And  at  the  same  moment  he  shook  off  his  bonds,  which  were 
cut  through  :  the  prisoner  was  only  fastened  to  the  bed  by  one 
leg. 

Ere  the  seven  men  had  time  to  look  about  them  and  rush 
forward,  he  had  stretched  out  his  hand  toward  the  fire-place, 
and  the  Thenardiers  and  the  brigands,  driven  back  by  surprise 
to  the  end  of  the  room,  saw  him  almost  free,  and  in  a  for- 
midable attitude,  waving  round  his  head  the  red-hot  chisel, 
from  which  a  sinister  glare  shot. 

In  the  judicial  inquiry  that  followed  this  affair  it  was  stated 
that  a  large  •  sou,  cut  and  worked  in  a  peculiar  manner,  was 
found  in  the  garret  when  the  police  made  their  descent  upon 
it.  It  was  one  of  those  marvels  of  industry  which  the  patience 
of  the  bagne  engenders  in  the  darkness,  and  for  the  darkness 
•—marvels  which  are  nought  but  instruments  of  escape,  These 


2l6  LES   MISERABLES. 

hideous  and  yet  delicate  products  of  a  prodigious  art  are  in 
the  jewelry  trade  what  slang  metaphors  are  in  poetry ;  for 
there  are  Benvenuto  Cellinis  at  the  bagne,  in  the  same  way  as 
there  are  Villons  in  language.  The  wretch  who  aspires  to  de- 
liverance, finds  means,  without  tools,  or,  at  the  most,  with  an 
old  knife,  to  saw  a  sou  in  two,  hollow  out  the  two  parts  with- 
out injuring  the  dies,  and  form  a  thread  in  the  edge  of  the 
sou,  so  that  the  sou  may  be  reproduced.  It  screws  and  un- 
screws at  pleasure,  and  is  a  .box  ;  and  in  this  box  a  watch- 
spring  saw  is  concealed,  which,  if  well  managed,  will  cut 
through  fetters  and  iron  bars.  It  is  believed  that  the  unhappy 
convict  possesses  only  a  sou ;  but,  not  at  all  he  possesses  liberty. 
It  was  a  sou  of  this  nature  which  was  bound  by  the  police  under 
the  bed  near  the  window,  and  a  small  saw  of  blue  steel,  which 
could  be  easily  concealed  in  the  sou,  was  also  discovered.  It 
is  probable  that  at  the  moment  when  the  bandits  searched  the 
prisoner  he  had  the  double  sou  about  him,  and  hid  it  in  his 
palm  ;  and  his  right  hand  being  at  liberty  afterwards,  he  un- 
screwed it,  and  employed  the  saw  to  cut  the  ropes.  This 
would  explain  the  slight  noise  and  the  almost  imperceptible 
movements  which  Marius  had  noticed. 

As,  however,  he  was  unable  to  stoop  down  for  fear  of  betray- 
ing himself,  he  had  not  cut  the  cord  on  his  left  leg. 

The  bandits  gradually  recovered  from  their  surprise. 

"  Be  easy,"  said  Bigrenaille  to  The'nardier,  "  he  is  still 
held  by  one  leg,  and  will  not  fly  away.  I  put  the  pack-thread 
round  that  paw. 

Here  the  prisoner  raised  his  voice, — 

"  You  are  villains,  but  my  life  is  not  worth  so  much  trouble 
to  defend.  As  for  imagining  that  you  could  make  me  speak, 
make  me  write  what  I  do  not  wish  to  write,  or  make  me  say 
what  I  do  not  intend  to  say — " 

He  pulled  up  the  sleeve  of  his  left  arm  and  added,— 

"  Look  here !  " 

At  the  same  time  he  stretched  out  his  arm,  and  placed  on 
the  naked  flesh  the  red-hot  chisel,  which  he  held  in  his  right 
hand  by  the  wooden  handle. 

Then  could  be  heard  the  frizzling  of  the  burnt  flesh,  and  the 
smell  peculiar  to  torture-rooms  spread  through  the  garret. 
Marius  tottered  in  horror,  and  the  brigands  themselves  shud- 
dered— but  the  face  of  the  strange  old  man  was  scarce  con- 
tracted, and  while  the  red-hot  steel  was  burying  itself  in  the 
smoking  wound,  he — impassive  and  almost  august — fixed  on 


MARIUS.  217 

The"nardier  his  beautiful  glance,  in  which  there  was  no  hatred, 
and  in  which  suffering  disappeared  in  a  serene  majesty. 

For  in  great  and  lofty  natures  the  revolt  of  the  flesh 
and  of  the  senses  when  suffering  from  physical  pain  make  the 
soul  appear  on  the  brow,  in  the  same  way  as  the  mutiny  of 
troops  compels  the  captain  to  show  himself. 

"Villains,"  he  said,  "be  no  more  frightened  of  me  than  I 
am  of  you." 

And,  tearing  the  chisel  out  of  the  wound,  he  hurled  it  through 
the  window  which  had  been  left  open.  The  horrible  red-hot 
tool  whirled  through  the  night  and  fell  some  distance  off  in  the 
snow,  which  hissed  at  the  contact.  The  prisoner  continued,— 

"  Do  to  me  what  you  like." 

He  was  defenceless. 

"  Seize  him,"  said  The*nardier. 

Two  of  the  brigands  laid  their  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and 
the  masked  man  with  the  ventriloquist  voice  stood  in  front  of 
him,  ready  to  dash  out  his  brains  with  a  blow  of  the  key  at  the 
slightest  movement  on  his  part.  At  the  same  time  Marius 
heard  below  him,  but  so  close  that  he  could  not  see  the  speakers, 
the  following  remarks  exchange  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done." 

"  Cut  his  throat !  " 

"  Exactly." 

It  was  the  husband  and  wife  holding  council,  and  then  Thenar- 
dier  walked  slowly  to  the  table,  opened  the  drawer,  and  took 
out  the  knife. 

Marius  clutched  the  handle  of  the  pistol  in  a  state  of  extra- 
ordinary perplexity.  For  above  an  hour  he  had  heard  two 
voices  in  his  conscience,  one  telling  him  to  respect  his  father's 
will,  while  the  other  cried  to  him  to  succor  the  prisoner. 
These  two  voices  continued  their  struggle  uninterruptedly,  and 
caused  him  an  agony.  He  had  vaguely  hoped  up  to  this  mo- 
ment to  find  somamode  of  reconciling  those  two  duties,  but  noth- 
ing possible  had  occurred  to  him.  Still  the  peril  pressed  ;  the 
last  moment  of  delay  was  passed,  for  Thdnardier,  knife  in  hand, 
was  reflecting  a  few  paces  from  the  prisoner. 

Marius  looked  wildly  around  him,  which  is  the  last  me- 
chanical resource  of  despair. 

All  at  once  he  started  ;  at  his  feet  on  his  table  a  bright  moon- 
beam lit  up  and  seemed  to  point  out  to  him  a  sheet  of  paper. 
On  this  sheet  he  read  this  line,  written  in  large  letters  that 
very  morning  by  the  elder  of  Thenardier's  daughters, — 


2l8  LES   MISERABLES. 

i 

"  HERE  ARE  THE  SLOPS." 

An  idea,  a  flash,  crossed  Marius'  mind ;  this  was  the  solu- 
tion of  the  frightful  problem  that  tortured  him,  sparing  the  as- 
sassin and  saving  the  victim.  He  knelt  down  on  the  chest  of 
drawers,  stretched  forth  his  arm,  seized  the  paper,  softly  detached 
a  lump  of  plaster  from  the  partition,  wrapped  it  up  in  the  pa- 
per, and  threw  it  through  the  hole  into  the  middle  of  the  den. 
It  was  high  time,  for  Thenardier  had  overcome  his  last  fears, 
or  his  last  scruples,  and  was  going  toward  the  prisoner. 

"  There's  something  falling,"  his  wife  cried. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  her  husband  asked. 

The  woman  had  bounded  forward,  and  picked  up  the  lump 
of  plaster  wrapped  in  paper,  which  she  handed  to  her  husband. 

"  How  did  it  get  here?  "  Thenardier  asked. 

"  Why  hang  it,"  his  wife  asked,  "  how  do  you  expect  that 
it  did?  through  the  window,  of  course." 

"  I  saw  it  pass,"  said  Bigrenaille. 

Thenardier  rapidly  unfolded  the  paper,  and  held  it  close  to 
the  candle. 

"Eponine's  handwriting, — the  devil!" 

He  made  a  signal  to  his  wife,  who  hurried  up  to  him,  and 
showed  her  the  line  written  on  the  paper,  then  added  in  a  hol- 
low voice, — 

Quick,  the  ladder !  we  must  leave  the  bacon  in  the  trap." 
Without  cutting  the  man's  throat  ?  "  the  Megaera  asked. 
We  haven't  the  time." 
Which  way  ?  "  Bigrenaille  remarked. 
By  the  window,"  Thenardier  replied ;  "  as  Ponine  threw 
the  stone  through  the  window,  that's  proof  that  the  house  is 
not  beset  on  that  side. 

The  mask  with  the  ventriloquist  voice  laid  his  key  on  the 
ground,  raised  his  arms  in  the  air,  and  opened  and  shut  his 
his  hands  thrice  rapidly,  without  saying  a  word.  This  was 
like  the  signal  for  clearing  for  action  a-board  ship  ;  the  brigands 
who  held  the  prisoner  let  him  go,  and  in  a  twinkling  the  rope  lad- 
der was  dropped  out  of  the  window  and  securely  fastened  to  the 
sill  by  the  two  iron  hooks.  The  prisoner  paid  no  attention  to 
what  was  going  on  around  him,  he  seemed  to  be  thinking  or 
praying.  So  soon  as  the  ladder  was  fixed,  Thdnardier  cried, — - 

"  The  lady  first." 

And  he  dashed  at  the  window,  but  as  he  was  stepping  out, 
Bigrenaille  roughly  seized  him  by  the  collar. 

"  No,  no,  my  old  joker  j  after  us  I "  he  said. 


MARIUS.  219 

"  After  us !  "  the  bandits  yelled. 

"  You  are  children,"  said  Thenardier,  "  we  are  losing  time 
and  the  police  are  at  our  heels." 

"Very  well  then,"  said  one  of  the  bandits,  "let  us  draw 
lots  as  to  who  shall  go  first." 

Thenardier  exclaimed, — 

"  Are  you  mad?  are  you  drunk  ?  why,  what  a  set  of  hum- 
bugs ;  lose  time,  I  suppose,  draw  lots,  eh  ?  with  a  wet  finger  ? 
a  short  straw  ?  write  our  names  and  put  them  in  a  cap —  ?  " 

"  May  I  offer  my  hat  ?  **  a  voice  said  at  the  door. 

All  turned;  it  was  Javert  who  held  his  hat  in  his  hand 
and  offered  it  smilingly. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

JAVERT  IS  THROWN  OUT  AGAIN. 

JAVERT  posted  his  men  at  nightfall,  and  ambushed  himself 
behind  the  trees  of  the  Rue  de  la  barri£re  des  Gobelins,  which 
joins  No.  50-52  on  the  other  side  of  the  boulevard.  He  had 
begun  by  opening  his  "  pocket,"  in  order  to  thrust  into  it  the  two 
girls  ordered  to  watch  the  approaches  to  the  den,  but  he  had 
only  "  nailed  "  Azelma  ;  as  for  Eponine,  she  was  not  at  her  post, 
she  had  disappeared,  and  he  had  not  been  able  to  seize  her. 
Then  Javert  took  up  his  post,  and  listened  for  the  appointed  sig- 
nal. The  departure  and  return  of  the  hackney  coach  greatly 
perplexed  him ;  at  length  he  grew  impatient,  and  feeling 
sure  that  there  "  was  a  nest  there,"  and  being  in  "  luck's  way," 
and  having  recognized  several  of  the  bandits  who  went  in  he 
resolved  to  enter  without  waiting  for  the  pistol-shot. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  he  had  Marius'  latch-key,  and  he 
arrived  just  in  time. 

The  startled  bandits  dashed  at  the  weapons,  which  they  had 
thrown  into  corners  at  the  moment  of  their  attempted  escape  ; 
and  in  less  than  a  second,  these  seven  men,  formidable  to  look 
at,  were  grouped  in  a  posture  of  defence,  one  with  his  pole-axe, 
another  with  his  key,  a  third  with  his  life-preserver,  the  others 
with  chisel,  pincers,  and  hammer,  and  Thenardier  with  his 
knife  in  his  fist.  The  woman  picked  up  an  enormous  paving- 
stone  which  lay  in  the  angle  of  the  room,  and  served  her 
daughter  as  a  footstool. 

Javert  restored  his  hat  to  his  head,  and  walked  into  the 


22O  LES   MISERABLES. 

room,   with  folded  arms,  his  cane  hanging  from  his  wrist,  and 
his  sword  in  his  scahbard. 

"  Halt ! "  he  shouted,  "  you  will  not  leave  by  the  window 
but  by  the  door,  which  is  not  so  unhealthy.  You  are  seven 
and  we  are  fifteen,  so  do  not  let  us  quarrel  like  water-carriers, 
but  behave  as  gentlemen." 

Bigrenaille  drew  a  pistol  from  under  his  blouse,  and  placed 
it  in  Thenardier's  hand,  as  he  whispered, — 

"  It  is  Javert,  and  I  dare  not  fire  at  that  man.     Dare  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so,"  Theuardier  answered. 

"  Well,  fire." 

Thenardier  took  the  pistol  and  aimed  at  Javert ;  the  in- 
spector, who  was  only  three  paces  from  him,  looked  at  him 
fixedly,  and  contented  himself  with  saying, — 

"Don't  fire,  for  the  pistol  won't  go  ofi°." 

Thenardier  pulled  the  trigger,  there  was  a  flash  in  the  pan. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  so  ?  "  Javert  remarked. 

Bigrenaille  threw  his  life-preserver  at  Javert's  feet. 

"You  are  the  emperor  of  the  devils,  and  I  surrender." 

"And  you?  "  Javert  asked  the  other  bandits. 

They  answered,  "  We  too." 

Javert  remarked  calmly, — 

"  That  is  all  right,  I  begged  you  to  behave  like  gentlemen." 

"  I  only  ask  one  thing,"  Bigrenaille  remarked,  "  that  my 
baccy  mayn't  be  stopped  while  I'm  in  solitary  confinement." 

"  Granted,"  said  Javert. 

Then  he  turned  and  shouted,  "  You  can  come  in  now." 

A  squad  of  police,  sword  in  hand,  and  agents  armed  with 
bludgeons  and  sticks,  rushed  in  at  Javert's  summons,  and  bound 
the  robbers.  This  crowd  of  men,  scarce  illumined  by  the 
candle,  filled  the  den  with  shadows. 

"  Handcuff  them  all,"  Javert  cried. 

"Just  come  this  way,"  a  voice  shouted,  which  was  not  that 
of  a  man,  but  of  which  no  one  could  have  said,  "  It  is  a  woman's 
voice."  Mother  Thenardier  had  entrenched  herself  in  one  of 
the  angles  of  the  window  and  it  was  she  from  whom  this  roar 
had  come.  The  police  and  the  agents  fell  back,  she  had  thrown 
off  her  shawl  and  kept  her  bonnet  on  ;  her  husband,  crouch- 
ing behind  her,  almost  disappeared  under  the  fallen  shawl,  and 
she  covered  him  with  her  body,  while  raising  the  paving-stone 
above  her  head  with  both  hands,  like  a  giantess  about  to  heave 
a  rock. 

"  Heads  below  ! "  she  screeched. 

All  fell  back  upon  the  passage,  and  there  was  a  large  open 


MARIUS.  221 

space  in  the  centre  of  the  garret.  The -hag  took  a  glance  at 
the  bandits,  who  had  suffered  themselves  to  be  bound,  and  mut- 
tered, in  a  hoarse  and  guttural  voice, — "  The  cowards !  " 

Javert  smiled,  and  walked  into  the  open  space  which  the 
woman  guarded  with  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  come  any  nearer,"  she  shrieked,  "  or  I'll  smash  you. 
Be  off." 

"  What  a  grenadier !  "  said  Javert,  "  the  mother !  you  have 
a  beard  like  a  man,  but  I  have  claws  like  a  woman." 

And  he  continued  to  advance.  Mother  Thenardier,  with 
flying  hair  and  terrible  looks,  straddled  her  legs,  bent  back, 
and  wildly  hurled  the  paving-stone  at  Javert.  He  stooped,  the 
stone  passed  over  him,  struck  the  wall,  from  which  it  dislodged 
a  mass  of  plaster,  and  then  ricochetted  from  angle  to  angle  till 
it  fell  exhausted  at  Javert's  feet.  At  the  same  moment  Javert 
reached  the  The'nardiers :  one  of  his  large  hands  settled  on  the 
wife's  shoulder,  the  other  on  the  husband's  head. 

"  Handcuffs  here  ! "  he  shouted. 

The  policemen  flocked  in,  and  in  a  few  seconds  Javert's 
orders  were  carried  out.  The  woman,  quite  crushed,  looked  at 
her  own  and  her  husband's  manacled  hands,  fell  on  the  ground, 
and,  bursting  into  tears,  cried, — 

"  My  daughters." 

"  Oh,  they  are  all  right,"  said  Javert. 

By  this  time  the  police  had  noticed  the  drunken  man  sleep- 
ing behind  the  door,  and  shook  him ;  he  woke  up,  and  stam. 
mered, — 

"Is  it  all  over,  Jondrette?" 

"  Yes,"  Javert  answered. 

The  six  bound  bandits  were  standing  together,  with  their 
spectral  faces,  three  daubed  with  black,  and  three  masked. 

"  Keep  on  your  masks,"  said  Javert. 

And,  passing  them  in  review,  like  a  Frederick  II.  at  a  Pots- 
dam parade,  he  said  to  the  three  "  sweeps," — 

"Good-day,  Bigrenaille."  "Good-day,  Brujon."  "  Good- 
day,  Deux  Milliards." 

Then  turning  to  the  three  masks,  he  said  to  the  man  with  the 
pole-axe,  "  Good-day,  Gueulemer,"  and  to  the  man  with  the 
cudgel,  "  Good-day,  Babet,"  and  to  the  ventriloquist,  "  Here's 
luck,  Claquesous." 

At  this  moment  he  noticed  the  prisoner,  who  had  not  said  a 
word  since  the  arrival  of  the  police,  and  held  his  head  down. 

"  Untie  the  gentleman,"  said  Javert,  "  and  let  no  one  leave 
the  room." 


222  LES   MISERABLES. 

After  saying  this  he  sat  down  in  a  lordly  way  at  the  table, 
on  which  the  candle  and  the  inkstand  were  still  standing,  took 
a  stamped  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  began  writing  his  report. 
When  he  had  written  a  few  lines,  which  are  always  the  same 
formula,  he  raised  his  eyes. 

"  Bring  the  gentleman  here  whom  these  gentlemen  had  tied 
up." 

The  agent  looked  around. 

"  Well,"  Javert  asked,  "  where  is  he  ?  " 

The  prisoner  of  the  bandits,  M.  Leblanc,  M.  Urbain  Fabre, 
the  father  of  Ursule  or  the  Lark,  had  disappeared.  The  door 
was  guarded,  but  the  window  was  not.  So  soon  as  he  found 
himself  released,  and  while  Javert  was  writing,  he  took  advan- 
tage of  the  trouble,  the  tumult,  the  crowd,  the  darkness,  and 
the  moment  when  attention  was  not  fixed  upon  him,  to  rush  to 
the  window.  An  agent  ran  up  and  looked  out ;  he  could  see 
nobody ;  but  the  rope  ladder  was  still  trembling. 

"  The  devil !  "  said  Javert  between  his  teeth,  "  he  must  have 
been  the  best  of  the  lot." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    LITTLE    BOY    WHO    CRIED    IN    PART    SECOND. 

ON  the  day  after  that  in  which  these  events  occurred  in  the 
house  on  the  Boulevard  del' Hopital,  a  lad,  who  apparently 
came  from  the  bridge  of  Austerlitz,  was  trudging  along  the 
right-hand  walk  in  the  direction  of  the  Barriere  de  Fontaine- 
bleau,  at  about  nightfall.  This  boy  was  pale,  thin,  dressed  in 
rags,  wearing  canvas  trousers  in  the  month  of  February,  and 
singing  at  the  top  of  his  lungs. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  du  Petit  Banquier  an  old  woman 
was  stooping  down  and  fumbling  in  a  pile  of  mud  by  the 
lamplight ;  the  lad  ran  against  her  as  he  passed  and  fell  back 
with  the  exclamation, — 

"  My  eye,  why  I  took  that  for  an  enormous,  an  enormous 
dog." 

He  uttered  the  word  enormous  the  second  time  with  a  sonor- 
ous twang,  which  might  be  expressed  by  capitals  "an  enormous, 
an  ENORMOUS  dog."  The  old  woman  drew  herself  up  furi- 
ously. 


MARIUS.  223 

"You  young  devil!"  she  growled,  "if  I  had  not  been 
stooping  I  know  where  my  foot  would  have  been  now." 

The  lad  was  already  some  distance  off. 

"  K'ss  !  k'ss  !  "  he  said,  "after  all  I  may  not  have  been  mis- 
taken." 

The  old  woman,  choked  with  indignation,  drew  herself  up  to 
her  full  height,  and  the  street  lantern  fully  lit  up  her  livid 
face,  which  was  hollowed  by  angles  and  wrinkles,  and  crow's- 
feet  connecting  the  corners  of  the  mouth.  The  body  was  lost 
in  the  darkness,  and  her  head  alone  could  be  seen ;  she  looked 
like  a  mask  of  decrepitude  lit  up  by  a  flash  darting  through  the 
night.  The  lad  looked  at  her. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "yours  is  not  the  style  of  beauty  which 
would  suit  me." 

He  went  his  way,  and  began  singing  again, — 

"  Le  Eoi  Coup  de  sabot 
S'en  allait  a  la  chasse, 
A  la  chasse  aux  corbeaux." 

At  the  end  of  these  three  lines  he  broke  off.  He  had  reached 
$o.  50-52,  and,  finding  the  gate  closed,  he  began  giving  it  re- 
echoing  and  heroic  kicks,  which  indicated  rather  the  shoes  of 
the  man  which  he  wore  than  the  feet  of  the  boy  which  he  had. 
By  this  time  the  same  old  woman  whom  he  had  met  at  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  du  Pent  r>anquier  ran  up  after  him,  uttering 
shouts,  and  making  the  most  extraordinary  gestures.  / 

"What's  the  matter?  what's  the  matter?  O  Lord  to 
God  !  the  gate  is  being  broken  down,  and  the  house  broken 
into." 

The  kicks  continued,  and  the  old  woman  puffed. 

"Is  that  the  way  that  houses  are  treated  at  present?" 

All  at  once  she  stopped,  for  she  had  recognized  the  gamin. 

"Why,  it  is  that  Satan  !  " 

"Hilloh!  it's  the  old  woman,"  said  the  boy.  "Good  even- 
Ing,  my  dear  Bougonmuche,  I  have  come  to  see  my  ances- 
tors. 

The  old  woman  answered  with  a  composite  grimace,  an  ad. 
mirable  instance  of  hatred  taking  advantage  of  old  age  and 
ugliness,  which  was  unfortunately  lost  in  the  darkness, — 
"There's  nobody  here,  scamp." 

"Nonsense,"  the  boy  said,  "  where's  father?" 

"  At  La  Force." 

"Hilloh!  and  mother?" 

"  At  Saint  Lazare." 


224  L£S   MISERABLES. 

"  Very  fine!  and  my  sisters?" 

"  At  the  Madelonnettes." 

The  lad  scratched  the  back  of  his  ear,  looked  at  Mame 
Bougon,  and  said, "  Ah ! " 

Then  he  turned  on  his  heels,  and  a  moment  later  the  old 
woman,  who  was  standing  in  the  gateway,  heard  him  singing 
in  his  clear  young  voice,  as  he  went  off  under  the  elms  which 
were  quivering  in  the  winter  breeze, — 

"  Le  Eoi  Coup  de  sabot 
S'en  al  lid t  ii  la  cbasse, 
A  la  cbasse  aux  corbeaux. 
Monte"  sur  des  e"chasses, 
Quand  on  passait  dessous, 
On  lui  payait  deux  sous." 


BND  OF  MAR1US. 


